Chapter Nineteen

Alaric cursed himself all the next day. He'd been rude to Eli, but he hadn't been able to help it. All he'd seen when he'd lain down to sleep were different sets of eyes bouncing around—Els's when he'd gotten angry and Alasdair's when he'd knocked him on his arse. And he hated to admit it, but Alasdair's eyes were exactly the same as Uncle Jake's eyes.

He was cursed for sure, and no woman should be with him.

They reached the Borderlands in the middle of the following day. According to the crofters and others they spoke to, Sir James Douglas was not far from Ettrick Forest. They found him and his men about an hour later.

"Sir James," Maitland said. "How can we help?"

Douglas, determination evident in his dark eyes, stood tall, his body slender but broad-shouldered. He glanced back over the open meadow at his men, probably two score at least, before he spoke, pushing strands of his dark hair back from his face. "The Scots blockade has been more than successful in keeping rations from Edwards troops at Berwick. I've been told they have killed their horses for meat just to stay alive. But that has had consequences for us, as well. We're getting reports of raiding and looting from many different areas, but I can only send my men so many places. If ye would patrol along the River Teviot, it would be most helpful."

"We'd be honored to assist. Any specifics as to where we should go along the river?" Dyna asked.

"If you go to Coldstream, Skaithmuir, and Quarrell, that would be a great help to us. I'll remain in this general area, so if ye come across any English raiders and need assistance, call for me. I have thirty men close at hand. I will wait for yer return before we go too far." Sir James clasped Maitland's shoulder. "And we are more than grateful for your archers."

Dyna led their group off to a clearing to make plans. "Alaric and Eli, Skaithmuir. Thea and Willum to Quarrel, Tevis and Wenna to Coldstream. Maitland and I will go between these three areas. If ye see any Gascon or English soldiers, dinnae engage with them. Get a count and advise us of what ye have seen. We will confer with Sir James before deciding how to attack."

"Ye'll have to point us in that direction, Maitland," Alaric said. "I dinnae know where Skaithmuir is." He wasn't foolish enough to protect his pride just to get lost in the Borderlands surrounded by starving Englishmen. Even if they didn't engage, he needed to be able to report back on what they found on their share of the patrol.

"We'll head to the river and follow it. I know a good crossroads there where we can plan to meet. The river will lead us to the fertile farmlands, the most likely place to find the soldiers."

They mounted up, and Maitland led the way. Alaric tried to identify landmarks as they rode.

He pulled his horse abreast of Dyna and said in a low voice, "Mayhap Eli should go with ye, and I can go with Maitland."

Dyna's reaction was swift. "Ye are daft if ye think I'm going to send two archers separately from two swordmen. We need to be in pairs or all together."

"True. Then I'll travel with ye and Eli can go with Maitland." Alaric pretended to stare off in the distance while she thought about his proposal.

"If ye'd paid attention, ye would have noticed that Maitland and I are traveling between the three groups. Know ye the three areas, Alaric?"

He sighed and said, "Of course not."

"Then ye know my answer. I suspect it willnae matter for long, because we will eventually join Sir James's force when we take on the English. But for now, we match up. What the bloody hell is in yer head, Alaric?"

Alaric didn't know how to explain what was in his heart, but he trusted Dyna. She knew exactly what had taken place. "Did ye no' see what happened before we left Grant land?"

"I saw ye knocked Alasdair on his arse. What does that have to do with anything?"

He hated that he had to explain this to her. "Can ye no' see, Dyna? I'm cursed. Els, Da, Alasdair?" He didn't mention the first sign of his curse, which had caused him more pain than any.

"Ye think ye have anything to do with their conditions? Well, ye did knock Alasdair on his arse. 'Tis true. I cannae argue that. But half the sparring matches in the lists end up that way, as ye well know. And ye didnae cause yer sire's and brother's injuries at all. Stop thinking that way."

Alaric was not going to give up easily. She had to see the truth of it. "Ye'll be putting Eli at risk by matching her with me."

"Get that shite out of yer head, Grant, or I'll knock it out. Your father's and brother's problems are not your fault. Stop thinking like that when ye are going into battle, or ye will cause injuries. Yer own."

Alaric didn't know what to say. He knew the truth, but she wasn't going to believe him.

"And the other was not yer fault either!"

He frowned, then nodded, moving his horse back. A short time later, Maitland said, "Skaithmuir. That way, Alaric and Eli. Go and report back here in an hour. If we arenae here, then wait under that tree." He pointed to a huge oak that even Alaric knew would make a good landmark.

Eli nodded her agreement. They rode off, leaving the others behind. Alaric vowed they would only talk about their assignment, not his curse nor their future.

"Ye arenae cursed, ye daft idjit." Eli said, actually leaning over to smack him on the shoulder.

"What the hell? Ye were listening to my conversation with Dyna?" He was furious. How the hell had the wee witch overheard the conversation? The wee, beautiful witch. Hellfire, but he'd never seen her look more stunning. Tight plait, sitting her horse perfectly, tight leggings molded just so to her sweet arse. And now that he knew exactly how perfectly formed her breasts were, he was ruined. If he didn't stop looking at her, he'd have a hard-on for sure.

"I couldn't help but overhear. I was directly in front of the two of ye. And what else was I supposed to do as I rode? And why the bloody hell do ye think ye are cursed? Just because yer brother and father were hurt? There have been plenty of people hurt in my clan, and no one blames themselves. Stop thinking the world revolves around ye."

That comment pissed him off. "There are more than those two. I was just sparring with my cousin and knocked him on his arse. I could have killed him just because I took too wide a swing at him. And there have been others. At least ye dinnae have to deal with a curse."

They followed the path approaching the river, and the area was deserted—no English soldiers, or anyone else, to be seen. In fact, they'd seen nothing but open meadow for the most part. The area was lacking in forestry compared to the Highlands. But there were also no farms, no huts, no villagers. Nothing to draw the soldiers, unless they wished to fish in the river.

Eli's eyes blazed in fury. "Dammit it all to hell and back, but I do have a curse and his name is Logan Ramsay. Ye know what he thinks? He thinks I should marry ye. That we should make this big alliance like Aunt Brenna and Uncle Quade did. And so does my grandmother."

"And ye told him what happened between us?" He hadn't expected that news. Logan wanted him to marry his granddaughter?

"Nay, I didnae tell anyone. Too embarrassing."

"Ye're embarrassed? About me and what we did? If ye did no' like it, why'd ye beg for it? Ye are such a stubborn lass. And ye curse like a sailor. Why do ye no' just say nay, if the thought upsets ye so much?"

"I've been saying nay for a long time, but they keep nagging me. I told them I'll pick my own husband and they can stay out of my life. 'Tis no one's say but mine. And who else did ye ever hurt?"

Alaric huffed at her blatant change of subject. "It doesnae matter."

"It does matter if ye wish for me to believe ye are cursed. It surely wasnae yer fault that two horses fell. That was just because of the weather. Or are ye God and can control the weather now? And as far as Alasdair goes, if ye cannae knock someone on their arse, ye shouldnae be out here."

"Oh, does that make it right? Sure, I'll accept that. Knocking someone on their arse isnae a big deal, perhaps, but it is if ye kill someone. Does that fit with yer finicky rules, Queenie?'

"God's bollocks, dinnae call me Queenie."

"But ye act like one. Always barking orders. Ye have to make all yer own decisions. And ye promised to stop being blasphemous. That didnae last long, did it?"

"I'll curse however I want. Ye try to tell me what to do, I'll curse. No reason to respect yer wishes if ye made a decision for me without talking about it."

"Ye are only one person I made a decision about, and it was what ye wanted anyway. Maybe ye should make decisions for everyone. Would that make ye happy, Queenie?"

"Nay, stop calling me that. And what the hell are ye speaking of? Who would want anyone to make decisions for them?"

"Queenie."

"Stop it. God's arse."

"Or what? Ye have no power over me. Have ye ever killed someone, Queenie?"

"Stop calling me that, or I'll make yer two sacs into four when ye least expect it."

Alaric was stunned at that comment. He knew she was crude, but that was worse than he'd ever heard before. He fought the urge to put his hand in front of his bollocks. She'd think it was hysterical, and that knowledge gave him the strength to resist.

"Wait," she said, looking confused. "Ye killed an Englishman so ye think ye are cursed? Ye are supposed to kill the enemy."

"It wasnae the enemy I killed!"

She stopped her horse to face him.

"Ye cannae stop yer horse, Queenie. Keep going. We have an assignment to complete." The river flowed languidly beside them and the path spooled out empty before them. Where the hell was everyone? Fortunately, there were no English to be seen yet. But for trees dotting the landscape here and there, it was a desolate area.

"Nay," she replied, her voice quiet. "I'll not go another step until ye tell me who ye killed. Ye killed someone ye know? On purpose?"

"Nay," he answered, turning toward her. "No' on purpose. It was an accident, but it truly shows that I'm cursed."

"Who?'

"It doesnae matter who. Move yer horse." He couldn't even say the words. They were too painful.

"Who? Who did ye kill?"

"Leave it be. Ye dinnae need to know. 'Tis. Not. Yer. Concern."

"It is, if ye're using this curse foolishness to make decisions about my life. Who. Did. Ye. Kill?"

Alaric cursed under his breath, but the lass was as stubborn as anyone he knew. He believed her that she would not let up until he confessed, so he might as well tell her the awful truth.

"My uncle. All right? I killed Uncle Jake."