The Highlander’s Widow (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 8) Page 7

He listened to the sound of his horse's hoofs, to the almost-silence of the surroundings. Somewhere just behind him, he could hear the steady thud of hoof-beats and knew that he was leading along Amalie and her son.

  His shoulder ached. He shouldn't be riding – he knew that. He could feel that the wound had opened as he mounted up, because the blood had flowed and dried, tightening on his skin. He tried not to think about it, though the pain nagged at him, somewhere on the edge of his mind.

  The sound of the firefighting had disappeared now. He strained to hear it, but there was nothing. Just the steady clop of hooves and the faint sound of wind in the trees greeted him. He shivered.

  “Lucky it's a mild autumn,” he said to himself. He had grabbed a cloak – he had no idea to whom it belonged – but even so, he was cold. The boy had nothing to cover him. Lady Amalie had a coat. He turned and rode back the twenty paces.

  “Milady? Are you and Alec warm?”

  “I'm warm,” Alec spoke up, sounding a little defiant. Bronan bit back a smile. He could see the boy was not that warm – he was hunched over the reins and looked miserable. He was wearing a nightshirt, and it was made of good, thick linen, but even so he must be quite cold.

  “Alec can share my coat,” Lady Amalie said softly.

  “I should have thought to bring another,” he said, feeling wretched. “It's not too far now.”

  “I'll manage.”

  The boy said it firmly. Bronan raised a brow, not wanting to smile. Above the teenager's head, he saw his mother beam.

  Stubborn, isn't he? Her gaze said it, even where her lips could not.

  Bronan shot her a blazing smile.

  Oblivious to them, Alec spoke up. “I'll be pleased to get to the inn.”

  “Me too, lad,” Bronan said, seriously. “I will.”

  He turned and rode a little way ahead. The path was in utter darkness, lit only by the faint starlight and moonlight. It was full, which helped – they would be lost without it. He gave silent thanks for that, and for all the other luck they'd had so far.

  Now I just have to hope I remember where it is.

  He sighed. That was his greatest worry. He rode on.

  After twenty minutes of silent fretting, he suddenly beamed. “That's the crossing!”

  A wooden crossroads sign appeared in the treeline, on his right. He looked down and saw the track, its pale sandy ground showing clearly in the moonlight as it crossed theirs. They were on the right road.

  “Bronan? What is it?”

  Bronan tensed, hearing his name on her lips. It was a pleasant sound though, wonderful. It made his heart melt at the edges. He turned and beamed. “It's the way! We're almost there.”

  “Hooray! I'm starving.”

  The adults both laughed.

  “Easy does it, lad. We're almost there. Another ten minutes, and you'll have your fill of dinner.”

  The jubilant yell lifted all their spirits. Setting his horse to a brisk walk – it was lighter here, the trees thinning and so safe to risk increased speeds. They headed off.

  “Bronan?” her voice called him.

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “Is that the inn, there?”

  “Oh!” He grinned, relieved. “I'm daft. Thanks, milady. Yes.”

  Alec was too tired for much enthusiasm, but he managed a relieved grin. “Good. Come on, let's go! I could eat a whole potful of stew.”

  “Me too, lad,” Bronan grinned, watching the lad wait with ill-concealed impatience to get down. “So could I.”

  He swung lightly out of the saddle and then went to take the bridle of Lady Amalie's horse. Pale with exhaustion, she looked down into his face.

  “Thank you.”

  Their eyes held. Bronan, tired as he was, felt as if he was drifting in a warm sea. He sighed and shook himself as his horse stamped, the sound breaking his reverie. “Here you go, milady,” he said. “Can you jump?”

  “Yes,” Lady Amalie said, landing breathlessly beside him. She moved with a lithe grace that made him stare. He realized he was gaping at her and coughed awkwardly.

  “Mama!” Alec said, landing with a softer thump. “See? And they wouldn't even let me walk! And didn't I just ride for an hour, almost? Can I learn to sword-fight?”

  Bronan bit back a grin and looked at Amalie's worried expression.

  “We can discuss that when we're back at home,” she said carefully.

  Bronan saw the lad shoot her a disbelieving look, then head upstairs. He hung back, joining Amalie. “The boy's so full of life,” he said, standing close enough for her to lean on him if she wished. “He's a fine lad.”

  “He's too full of life sometimes,” Amalie said softly. “I worry for him sometimes. He knows no caution.”

  “He shouldn't have to,” Bronan chuckled. “It should be a world safe for fifteen-year-old lads to face no ill.”

  The thought brought the present crisis to mind and he felt his smile droop. He looked sideways at Lady Amalie, who likewise had tensed. “Sorry, milady.”

  “No,” she said softly. “It's true. I wish it could be as safe for him as it ought to be.”

  “Aye.”

  She reached up and slipped her hand out to clasp his arm, below the elbow. He went stiff. His whole body drew its breath and waited, as if he was in the woods, watching a wild creature drink at the rivulet. He didn't want to risk a movement, lest it break the spell, frightening her away.

  They walked up the stairs to the inn.

  Inside, the place was ruddy with firelight and the light of candles, burning on tables or in sconces on the wall. The din of people talking in the taproom was fantastic. Bronan squinted at Amalie, who stood closer. “Where's Alec?” He had to shout to make himself heard.

  “I...” Amalie looked around, distressed. Suddenly, the youth appeared.

  “Here I am, Mama,” he said promptly. “The man didn't believe I wanted to stay in the inn. Tell him I do?”

  Amalie smiled. Bronan's heart soared with joy. Tired and soot-stained she might be, the smile nevertheless transformed her face, rendering it the loveliest thing he'd seen.

  “I'll tell him,” she promised fondly. “Sir? Are you the innkeeper?”

  Bronan had the pleasure of seeing the innkeeper stare. It would have been funny were it not also annoying. He cleared his throat. “Two chambers, if you please. One for me, one for milady and her son.”

  “Um, yes,” the innkeeper said, shooting Bronan a glance of utter confusion. Bronan, looking down at himself, could understand it. He was dressed in the tattered remnants of his army trousers, a shirt Prudence had found for him and a cloak that matched neither the trousers nor the shirt and had likely belonged to someone from a distant clan. He sighed.

  The fellow will be busy all night trying to fathom us out.

  He cleared his throat again. “A room for Lady Amalie, and her son, Alec. Find me something in the loft, if there's naught empty.”

  “No.”

  Bronan turned. Lady Amalie had spoken softly. Despite that, her voice was even more insistent than his. “Milady, I...”

  “I am sure you can find adequate place for myself, my son and Bronan Ludlow,” she said carefully to the man. “I will send the reckoning to my estate, Inverkeith, to settle.”

  “Um...” The innkeeper, eyes bulging, swallowed. Bronan would have laughed again if he wasn't as astonished as the staring man. That settled his worry – he'd brought no money save the half-crown in his pocket, and he had no idea whether she had brought any coin with her or not, though he'd thought not. Now, at least, he knew how they would pay.

  “Milady,” he said. She held up a hand.

  “We'd like a quiet room, and one for Bronan nearby. And dinner.”

  Bronan felt Alec, who stood between him and his mother, tense up with anticipation. He wanted to laugh.

  “Um, of course, milady,” the innkeeper said. His voice sounded a register higher than when he'd first started – from the tension, Bronan thought bemusedly – and
his eyes bulged. “I'll...The room on the first floor is empty, the one that overlooks the hillside. And there's a smaller one next door, for, er...Bronan.”

  “Perfect,” Lady Amalie said, clearly unworried by the man's speculative looks in his direction. “And dinner?”

  “Yes, milady. Of course. Can I have the luggage fetched up?”

  “No, thank you,” Amalie said lightly. “We'll go up directly. Alec?”

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “You go first. I will check that the horses are being tended to.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Let me.” Bronan turned to her. He felt ashamed that he hadn't done more. “Milady, that's the least I'll do.”

  “Thanks.”

  He saw the cool authority drop from her face, replaced by utter exhaustion. She smiled at him, a weary smile.

  “Of course, milady.”

  He waited until he had seen her go up the staircase, following her son, and then headed outside.

  “See to the horses,” he said, passing the stable-hand a coin. “And mind they're well rested and rubbed down. I'll not have any neglect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bronan headed back inside. He was still frowning somewhat bemusedly when he reached the stairwell – nobody had ever called him “sir” before. Shaking his head, he went to his room.

  Dinner was in the taproom. The place was a noisy bustle of farmers and artisans, carters and traders and wool-sellers. He found a table at the back, elbowing past people who got in the way. He drew out a seat for Lady Amalie. She took it and smiled at him wearily.

  She had washed her face, he noticed, noting again how beautiful she looked. She had also somehow arranged her hair, so that it was sleek and smooth again, hiding the windswept strands.

  “Um...should we get ale?” he asked.

  “Yes!” Alec said.

  Bronan and Amalie both laughed.

  “I think small ale, Bronan,” she said softly. “I'm too tired for aught strong.”

  “Yes, milady.” Small ale meant ale that was boiled such that the vapors – the alcoholic spirit – were given off to the air. He privately agreed with her – after the exhausting day, ale would at very least make him fall at once to sleep. He needed something refreshing.

  The innkeeper appeared, ready with a tray of bread. Bronan's stomach lurched. The lad might have been well-fed, but he himself had taken only a little broth and bread, and he was starving.

  “Bread and stew, milady, master,” he said and inclined his head to Alec, who nodded regally. “Sir,” he said clumsily to Bronan.

  Bronan grinned. “Thanks,” he said. “And a flask of small ale, please.”

  The innkeeper hurried off. Bronan was still trying not to smile, enjoying the man's confusion, when Amalie broke in on his thoughts.

  “We'll ride on tomorrow?”

  Bronan frowned. He hadn't actually considered what they planned. He had thought only to get Amalie away from harm. “Um, it depends, milady,” he said, not wanting to alarm her, but not knowing how to say it. “On, well, the state of things.”

  “I know,” she said. She didn't look up from her plate.

  The only sound at their table was Alec, digging a spoon into the stew. Bronan turned to glance at him, wondering at the fact that despite his frosty dignity, he had such a fine appetite.

  “Can we ride tomorrow too, Mama?” Alec asked, a piece of loaf poised in front of his mouth. “I can ride five miles at a stretch, without stopping. You haven't seen me, but I can! When I went out with MacLammore, I...”

  Amalie looked so tired that Bronan coughed, gently. “Leave your mother be, lad. We'll likely ride tomorrow. You can tell me all about it then.”

  Alec's brow went up in surprise, but, oddly enough, he didn't protest. “I can shoot, too! MacLammore was teaching me. I'll show you that, too,” he said. This time, he was looking at Bronan.

  Bronan grinned. “I'm sure you will, lad. I bet you have a fine aim.”

  “I do!” he enthused. “I can hit a stick as thin as my finger from twenty paces!”

  “Good, good,” Bronan said lightly, reaching for a loaf of bread himself. He broke off a piece and dipped it in gravy, chewing slowly as his stomach reacted with enthusiasm.

  If I eat too fast, I'll likely be sick.

  He ate slowly, despite his inclination to go at the rate Alec was going. While he ate, he watched Amalie.

  She sat up straight, her eyes focusing on her plate of stew. She looked terribly tired. Her every gesture was neat, like the way she'd arranged her hair. She ate with graceful economy, making the simple act somehow beautiful.

  I can barely believe she's real, sometimes.

  He realized he was staring and coughed, looking away.

  “I feel tired, now,” Alec announced, leaning back in his chair. He stifled a yawn neatly, showing the same grace as his mother.

  Bronan nodded.

  “You can go upstairs, Alec,” Lady Amalie said softly. “I have the key here?”

  “I can wait, Mama,” he said, though Bronan could hear the weariness in his voice. He looked across at Lady Amalie. She shouldn't have to stop eating – she was as pale as a ghost and needed time – she was almost too weary to eat without falling asleep, though she must be famished and needed to maintain her strength.

  “I'll take him up,” Bronan offered.

  “It's alright,” she said softly. Alec raised a brow.

  “I'll tell you about my wound while we go,” he said. “You've also got one.”

  “I have,” Bronan acknowledged, feeling a warm glow of acknowledgment “It's a gunshot. Like yours, I reckon?”

  “Exactly like mine!” Alec said proudly. He was standing and headed round the table to his mother. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Bronan stepped back, moved. He didn't want to intrude on a private moment between a mother and her son. “Now you can tell me all about it.”

  Bronan, feeling every one of his nine-and-twenty years as if they were each doubled in length, nodded wearily, letting the boy run ahead. “You first,” he offered. “You can hear mine tomorrow.”

  Alec turned and grinned at him, seeming instantly cheered. “I'll tell you tomorrow!” he said. “Now I'm sleepy. It hurts,” he admitted.

  Bronan nodded. “Aye, lad,” he agreed. “I know.”

  Giving him a last weary grin, Alec undid the lock and went into the room, shutting the door behind him. Bronan leaned against the wall, finished. It was only nine of the clock – he'd heard the church-bells chiming the hour – but already he felt as if he'd never known sleep.

  Well, be reasonable. You have ridden ten miles in utter darkness, escaped a fire and raiders, all with a gunshot wound!

  He closed his eyes. Put like that, the weariness was more understandable. All he wanted now was to fall into bed. He remembered the peremptory way Lady Amalie had organized the room, and grinned. “I'd better go back.”

  Leaving her in the taproom alone was mindless folly. The poor woman! She was one of the gentlefolk, not used to such places and in danger there. He turned and ran back, feeling dreadful.

  “Hello?”

  He came to a sudden stop, startled. He found himself looking into her face. Her eyes were wide and imploring.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I was just coming to find you. Where is Alec?”

  “He's sleeping, most like,” Bronan nodded. “I took him upstairs.”

  “Good.” Her face relaxed and he noticed, this close, the tightness at the corners of her eyes. This adventure weighed on her. He nodded.

  “Well, then, milady,” he said raggedly. “You'd best go up then.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose so.”

  They looked at each other. She was so close; Bronan only had to lean a little forward to press his lips to hers. He didn't dare.

  Straightening abruptly, cheeks flaming, he turned toward the stairs. “Goodnight, milady,” he said softly.

  “Goodnight.”

/>   He went up as far as the landing, and then waited for her to pass, only planning to go to bed as soon as he knew she was safely in her chamber. The last thing he saw before he stumbled into his own room, groping in the dark, was her pale face regarding him from the doorway. She had such a strange tenderness on it that his heart twisted, aching.

  “Goodnight, milady,” he whispered in the silent darkness.

  He lay down on the bed, but knew that sleep would be hard to come by, no matter how exhausted he was. Beside the pain in his shoulder, he had something else entirely on his mind. Thoughts of Lady Amalie would not leave him, and it was quite some time before he fell asleep.

  THE WAY

  Amalie lay in the bed in the semi-darkness, listening to the sounds around her. It took her a moment to recall where she was. She heard her son's breathing and sat up, looking around.

  The daylight shone in, pale and translucent, through the window. She shifted on the pillows, turning to where her son lay on the pallet across from hers. The light glowed on his skin. He was pale, but sound asleep, lips gently parted and breath regular and easy. She smiled to herself, a sad smile.

  He's so beautiful, like a little angel.

  She couldn't say that to him, of course – he was a man now, a soldier. He was increasingly impatient with her fussing over him, as he saw it. However, she couldn't help the immense tenderness he brought out in her.

  He rolled over and she looked away quickly, not wanting him to wake and find her staring. He gave a small sigh and his eyes stayed closed. She sat up again and leaned back against the headboard of the bed.

  Outside, she could hear carts in the inn yard, the creak of wooden wheels on cobblestones. Somebody swore, lightly, and the cart shifted further. A horse snorted. Another person poured water into the ditch, the metal pail clanking against the door-frame as they went inside.

  It must be about eight of the clock.

  She stretched and yawned, then winced as she turned her head, feeling her neck tense. She felt stiff and sore, both from the ride and weariness. Memories came back to her, of the smoke choking her and stinging her eyes; the sound of the panicked horses; the headlong flight. Holding Alec tight against her and wincing as he cried out from the pain in his shoulder burned clearly.