Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

H ugo had the presence of mind to realize both he and Abigail looked a little strange. There was blood caked on their clothes and now there was dirt as well, accumulated by rolling around on the ground. Abigail’s hem was torn and shortened, and they both looked like they had barely survived a battle.

It was odd, he thought, how she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

With a groan, Hugo pushed himself up to his feet and offered his hand to Abigail, helping her stand as well. “We should bathe, at least,” he said. “There isn’t much we can do about the clothes but at least we can look clean. And perhaps I can find us something to wear when we reach the first village.”

The sooner they left their current spot, the better, but they could hardly show up the way they were to any civilized place and expect to be given any assistance. There was hardly anything to be done about their clothes, but Hugo would have to make up a plausible story about them.

Hugo removed his clothes entirely and then helped Abigail do the same, though it was no easier this time than the first, the fiddly laces making him curse under his breath. Once she was finally freed from the confines of her bodice and stood nude in front of him, Hugo couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate her beauty, his eyes taking in every detail of her.

It was the first time he had seen her entire body like this, with no clothes hiding any part of it, and he couldn’t get enough. Even the pink tint of her skin as she blushed under his gaze was endearing, his hands reaching out to touch her before he could stop himself.

He didn’t have to anymore, he thought. Abigail returned his feelings. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

She loved him.

Hugo had never thought a day like this would come, when he would be madly in love with someone, especially when said someone was none other than Abigail. In the time they had spent together, though, his feelings had crept up on him, building slowly with every conversation they had, every laugh they shared, every new side of Abigail that was revealed to him until he had finally understood she wasn’t the silly, spoiled little girl he had always thought she was. After that, it became impossible to ignore his feelings for her. It was impossible to pretend there was nothing there, binding the two of them together.

“Stop starin’,” Abigail said, though there was no bite behind her words. She smiled softly and took his hand, leading him to the lake, and Hugo happily followed her until they reached the bank, where Abigail came to a halt. “It’s very cold.”

“I had no doubts,” said Hugo. He had only felt the chill of the water when Abigail was cleaning his wounds and it had been bearable, but now that they were faced with the prospect of submerging their bodies entirely in that water, he had to admit it seemed daunting. He had already gone through one round of torture that day; he hardly wanted to experience another.

Still, the thought of washing the grime and the blood off his skin was too appealing, overshadowing everything else. Taking a deep, steeling breath, Hugo let go of Abigail’s hand and quickly jumped into the water, giving himself no time to second-guess his decision.

From the first moment of his plunge, his lungs seized from the cold and his skin prickled with it, the chill so intense that it circled right back around to a burning sensation. Hugo gasped and then forced his lungs to draw in a deep breath, teeth chattering and body tensing against the cold.

When he looked at Abigail, she was trying to hide a laugh behind her hand.

“Do you find it amusing?” he asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Quite,” Abigail said.

Hugo retaliated by splashing water at her, his palms displacing so much of it that she was suddenly drenched from head to toe. Abigail screamed, recoiling from the sudden splash, and it was Hugo’s turn to laugh as she turned to glare at him, her jaw clenched tightly and her hands curling into fists.

“That was cruel,” said Abigail, shivering through each word. “But I shall have me revenge.”

Slowly, hesitantly even, Abigail lowered herself into the water. Hugo could see the tight clench of her teeth from the small muscle jumping in her jaw. He could see the goosebumps on her skin betraying just how cold she was. And yet she didn’t say a single thing, quietly bearing the chill through sheer force of will.

She truly was a stubborn one.

“How do you plan on taking your revenge?” Hugo teased as he swam closer to Abigail. Perhaps getting so close wasn’t wise, but he couldn’t imagine what kind of revenge she could have in the lake short of drowning him.

She won’t drown me, will she?

“I suppose ye will have tae wait fer that moment tae come,” Abigail said. “An’ until then, ye shall live in fear.”

Abigail neither said nor did anything else after that, save for bathe herself, and Hugo had to admit that the anticipation of the revenge was even worse than the act itself. He was forced to look over his shoulder every time she strayed behind him, every time she got a little too close, his gaze tracking her obsessively so he could anticipate the attack that never came, in the end.

She talks about me being cruel, but she is the cruel one.

Once the water temperature became unbearable, Hugo pulled himself out of the lake and Abigail followed, him, the two of them shivering as they tried to shake off as much water as they could before dressing again. Though Hugo didn’t have a tinderbox with him, a fire sounded like a very good idea—or at least it would have been, had they been certain that no one would find them. They were far from the main path of the woods, but that didn’t mean that Chattan soldiers wouldn’t manage to find them in their search. Hugo would much rather put some distance between them, so they would have to endure the cold for a while longer.

“We should leave,” Hugo said. “We should go back as fast as we can. We can’t let the Chattans find us.”

“Ye’re right,” said Abigail. “But we dinnae even ken where we are. How are we supposed tae go back like this?”

“We just push on,” said Hugo simply. They had no other choice.

And so, they began to ride through the forest, heading towards the general direction of the last town they had visited while remaining away from the path. Every now and then, Hugo looked over his shoulder, searching for any sign that they weren’t alone, but he never saw anyone behind them.

Could it be they had managed to get away? Could it be that they could make it back?

Only a few hours prior, that had seemed impossible. In that dark room, Hugo had lost almost all hope of ever returning home, and had it not been for Abigail, he would still be there, at Niall’s and Finnian’s mercy.

As they rode, they made idle conversation, just enough to pass the time. When the subject turned to their families, though, Hugo hesitated. There weren’t many people who knew the full story of what had happened to his parents. Even among the people who were closest to him, few knew the whole truth.

Talking to Abigail, though, seemed easy, or at least easier than talking to others was. The fear of what she would think was still present, of course, gnawing at his insides. What if she blamed him, like he blamed himself? What if she thought he was a monster for what he had done?

But Hugo wanted Abigail to know the truth. He didn’t want to hide any part of himself from her, not even the worst parts. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her ignorant, allowing her to think that Hugo was a good man.

“My parents passed a while ago,” he said. He hadn’t anticipated the way that his voice broke, grief seeping through its cracks. “I told you I wasn’t always the man I am now… When I was younger, I met some people…. some very bad people. I didn’t know it then, of course. I mean, I knew who they were, what they were doing. I knew all that, but I never thought it would be a problem.”

Abigail gave him her undivided attention as he spoke, glancing back at him every few moments. Though it could hardly be called scrutiny, Hugo still withered under her gaze, his will to share this part of himself with her diminishing with every glance, but he forced himself to speak. It was something he should have told Abigail before he ever touched her, before he spoke those three words to her and let her echo them back to him.

“There was a fire,” he said. “When I met Domnhall, when he showed me that I could be better, I tried to get away from those people. I tried to tell them I would not work with them any longer and I tried to leave peacefully but it was foolish to think that, now I know. The only way to leave such people is to die.”

He still looked over his shoulder these days, still searched his chambers for any signs of tampering. He still tasted his food and drink carefully in case its flavor was odd, though he doubted anyone had followed him all the way to the Highlands from France.

“So, they set my house on fire. I would have perished in it had I been there, but I was with Domnhall that day. I was supposed to be there, in fac, but Domnhall came to fetch me on a whim and I followed him, so I was not there when it started. But my parents were and they lost their lives.”

Hugo tried to swallow around the knot forming in his throat. It was never easy, talking about his parents and remembering that he had been the one to cause their deaths. He and his foolishness, his belief that he was smarter and stronger than everyone else, that he was invincible.

If he had only known just how wrong he had been back then, when he had first met those people, then his parents would still be alive.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and it was only then that Hugo realized he had come to a halt, his entire body shaking as the memories of his parents rushed back to him. In his day-to-day, he kept himself busy enough to avoid thinking about them but now, in the silence of the forest, there was nothing else to occupy his mind, nothing to distract him from his guilt.

“Ye couldnae have kent,” Abigail said softly, her expression pinched with concern. “Ye couldnae.”

“I should have,” Hugo countered. “I knew what kind of people they were. I should have known they would do anything to get what they wanted.”

There was nothing Abigail could say to that and they both knew it. Hugo didn’t want her pity or her reassurance that he wasn’t the one at fault. All he wanted, all he could hope for, was that Abigail wouldn’t see him as a monster now.

He wouldn’t blame her if she did. Most of the time, he saw himself as a monster, too.

“I willnae tell ye tae nae blame yerself,” said Abigail as she leaned into him. Hugo all but collapsed on top of her, barely holding his weight as he let himself crumble into her touch, if only for a few moments. “It would be hypocritical o’ me when I blame meself fer Keira and me maither. But I ken what it’s like tae be burdened by somethin’ like this.”

It was actually a relief for Hugo—knowing there was someone close to him who had gone through a similar thing. It wasn’t the same, Hugo knew. What happened to Keira had been an accident and Abigail had been too young to even save herself, let alone do anything to save Keira from the fire. Hugo, on the other hand, had been far from a child. He couldn’t claim to have no blame in this. He couldn’t claim to have been unaware of what consequences being around such people could bring.

He didn’t know how long they spent like that, Hugo clinging onto Abigail while desperately trying to keep his eyes dry. When he finally pulled back from her, she turned and gave him a small, sad smile, then placed a hand on his thigh as they kept riding.

Right. We can’t stay here.

There was a question at the tip of his tongue, a few words that he needed to speak but couldn’t. It was foolish, too much, too soon. Better for him to keep his mouth shut, he thought, but then the words came tumbling out regardless, entirely against his will.

“Have you changed your mind now?” he asked. “About loving me?”

It was Abigail’s turn to be surprised, turning to look at him with a frown. “Nay,” she said. “Why dae ye ask?”

Her expression, her tone, they betrayed nothing but a simple curiosity, and Hugo didn’t know what to make of it. Surely, her opinion of him must have changed, at least a little. What he had revealed to her wasn’t something one could simply ignore.

“Because… because!” Hugo said, his tone verging on the edge of hysteria suddenly. “Because you deserve to love and be loved by someone better. Someone… I don’t know. Someone sweet and kind, like Ellair.”

Deep down, Hugo had always thought that if Abigail was going to marry anyone in their immediate social circle, it would be Ellair. His friend was just the kind of man Abigail seemed to like: handsome, charming, funny. He had his own past, like everyone, but he was not the wreck Hugo was. He and his twin brother, Cormac, had been captured in battle as young men, tortured and threatened for days before Cormac had struck a deal with the man who held them captive—none other than Laird John MacAuley, Domnhall’s own father. And yet, Ellair had never lost his smile nor had he ever hurt anyone like Hugo had.

Abigail looked at him as though she couldn’t quite comprehend his words. “But ye are sweet an’ kind,” she said. “Look at all ye’ve done fer me an’ fer me family. Ye came all the way here with me. Ye put yer life in danger fer me, even before ye kent why I had tae leave.” With a sigh, she leaned back on him, holding tightly onto his hands. “It’s those men who cannae be forgiven, Hugo. The ones who hurt yer family. Nae ye.”

Hugo didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t even believe it. After so much time spent blaming himself—deservedly so—he didn’t think he would ever manage to forgive himself for what he had done. He wasn’t worthy of forgiveness, only of the pain and grief he still carried with him.

Once again, Abigail had to urge him onward when she saw that he wouldn’t speak, the horse guiding them through the tree trunks and the roots that surrounded them. For a long while, they spent their journey in silence, exchanging no words until it evidently became too uncomfortable for Abigail and she simply had to say something.

“Ellair an’ Cormac are very close, are they nae?” she asked and Hugo was glad to find that she had changed the subject to something safer, something they could discuss simply to pass the time. “I’m close with me sisters, but even we are nae always together.”

“Well, I suppose it’s different for twins,” Hugo said. His voice was still rough with emotion, the lump in his throat refusing to dissolve, but he pushed through. If he distracted himself enough, then it would all go away once more. “But yes, they are very close. Always have been, ever since I first met them.”

It had struck him as odd at first, how Cormac and Ellair had looked so alike and yet were so different.

The more he and Abigail rode and chatted idly, the more his stomach began to settle, the memories fading to the back of his mind once more. By the time they made it to the town, the only thing that concerned him was getting back.

It wouldn’t be wise, though, to try and make it back to Castle Robertson in their state. Castle MacAuley was closer, more easily accessible. It was there they had to go if they had any chance to beat the Chattans.