Laird of Flint: A Forbidden Love Scottish Medieval Romance Adventure (The Warrior Lairds of Rivenloc

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Carenza heard the rockslide behind her. She gasped and froze.

Something or someone was on the path. Or had been on the path. That much rock sliding down the hill could mean they’d fallen into the ravine.

But who or what was it? A wolf? A lost lamb? That meddlesome knight of Rivenloch?

She immediately regretted calling him that. After all, he’d protected her from a beating at the Boyles’ hands. He’d kept her secret, not once revealing to them that she was a lass. And he’d sworn on his knighthood he wouldn’t turn her in to the laird.

Still, it would be terribly convenient for her if he…disappeared. She entertained the idea for the space of a heartbeat.

But despite her desperation—desperation that had driven her to nefarious behavior like sneaking out at midnight and thieving cattle—at heart she was still Lady Carenza. Her father’s pride and joy. Her clan’s inspiring figurehead. The laird’s daughter, who brought love, light, and kindness to everyone she met.

She didn’t have a ruthless bone in her body. And she had no appetite for violence, whether it was against coos, spiders, or even rampaging Vikings.

She sighed in surrender. If she didn’t turn back, she’d never forgive herself.

Silently cursing her soft heart, she found a wide part of the trail where she could turn Hamish around. Slowly and carefully, assuring his hooves found solid ground, she began leading him back down the mountain.

As she descended, she began to hope the Rivenloch warrior hadn’t fallen into the chasm, despite the inconvenience of his presence. She couldn’t say why exactly. After all, she didn’t even know the man.

But there was something she’d glimpsed in his eyes that told her there was more to him than just his Viking’s body and a warrior’s lust for battle. Something honest. Something direct. Something pure, intense, and worth investigating.

No one had ever looked at her like that before. Men either leered at her in open admiration or shyly shunned her gaze. But the warrior had regarded her with respect, with honor, with…

“Argh…”

Carenza hurried in the dark toward the sound of gasps and groans. It was indeed the Viking. And her eyes widened when she saw his predicament.

“Och!” she cried.

He hadn’t fallen into the ravine. Not yet. But he was hanging by one arm, gripping his axe, which was caught on the narrow lip of a boulder. Every muscle strained as he fought to keep from twisting and dislodging the blade.

She crept cautiously forward, kneeling beside him.

Once, long ago, she’d saved a lamb from falling into a well. She’d managed to grab one of its forelegs and hauled it up over the stone wall.

“Here,” she said, extending her arm. “Take my hand.”

He shook his head. “I’ll only…pull you down…with me.”

He was probably right. The warrior was no lamb. He was as big as an ox.

An ox!

“Hamish,” she decided. “Hamish can pull ye up.”

“The coo?”

“Aye.”

“Do you have…a rope?” he gasped.

She grimaced. He’d used her rope to tie up the Boyles.

“Hold on,” she said, wondering if he could. He’d already held on a long while.

She shrugged out of her plaid. Then she began tearing off the rags of her disguise, knotting them together.

His axe blade made a forbidding scrape as it slipped, grinding against the boulder.

He held his breath. His arm shuddered.

Her heart pounded as she tied the rags with frantic fingers.

“Almost,” she breathed, securing her plaid to the last rag.

Shivering in her thin leine, she rose on trembling legs to loop the tied rags around Hamish’s neck. She ducked under his head to secure the line. Then she fed out the makeshift rope and dropped it gingerly over the edge toward him.

The fingers of his free left hand could barely reach the cloth of her plaid.

She clucked to Hamish to summon him closer.

The axe made a sinister shriek as it twisted again on the rock.

Hamish stepped forward.

The plaid lowered toward the warrior another few inches.

Then, with a loud crack, the edge of the boulder chipped off, and the axe fell away.

At the last instant, the warrior seized the plaid in his left fist.

She gasped as the rag rope suddenly went taut. But Hamish, the loyal beast, stood steady, as if rescuing warriors from certain death was something he did every day.

Coaxed a few more paces forward along the path, Hamish hauled the Viking up out of danger. The man was able to crawl onto his hands and knees to catch his breath.

It was then Carenza noticed he’d never let go of his axe. She supposed it was a warrior’s instinct to die with his weapon in his hand. But now she wondered if she should be worried.

It was then she also realized, in her zeal to make the rag rope, she was now half-naked, clad only in her trews and thin leine.

He seemed to realize that at the same time.

But his concern was not for her modesty. “You must be freezing.”

He quickly untied the plaid from the rest of the rags and gently wrapped it around her shoulders.

Then he looked into her eyes with that penetrating gaze again. The one that seemed to read her thoughts and divine her emotions.

“I owe you my life,” he breathed.

She blushed. Not from his statement, which was true. But from the passion with which he’d uttered the words, as if his next words might be “so now I’m your slave forever.”

She gulped.

But then she remembered her mission. Saving Hamish.

Averting her eyes, she murmured, “If that’s true, then let me go.”

Hew’s first thought was, Never.

He didn’t say that, of course. He didn’t want to frighten the woman.

But deep in his soul, he knew he could never let her go. She felt like his destiny.

He tried to blame that strong belief on gratitude. Surely, he was only shaken by his close brush with death and grateful to the lady for saving his life.

But that wasn’t true. His warrior maid cousin had saved his life once. He didn’t feel that way about her.

Nay, this woman felt like his fate. His heartmate. The One.

Somehow she was different from all the others.

Yet even as he had that thought, a dark voice inside him sneered a reminder… Isn’t that what you always say? Isn’t that how you got your heart broken the last time? Didn’t you swear off women?

Besides, that wasn’t what Lady Carenza meant by “let me go.” What she meant was she never wanted to see him again. She wanted him to give her the coo, go away, and forget any of this had happened.

He sighed. “I can’t do that.”

Her chin trembled, and it was hard to tell whether she was on the verge of tears or holding back rage. He wondered if she was tempted to push him back into the crevasse.

“’Tisn’t safe for you,” he explained. “The Boyles may not have recognized you, my lady. But I do.”

She inhaled sharply. “How…”

“I saw you when I visited Dunlop yesterday. I believe you were feeding a squirrel.”

She looked momentarily discomfited. “I see.” Then she furrowed her brows. “So ye naturally intend to return the coo to my da.” She added bitterly, “For what reward? My hand in marriage?”

He frowned. She’d pricked his temper now. What kind of a conniving oaf did she think he was?

“I’m not a Boyle,” he grumbled. “I’d never stoop to such tactics.”

“Then what is it ye’re after?”

“After?” he scoffed. “Naught. Bloody hell, I’m only trying to help you.”

“Ye think turnin’ me in to my father as a cateran will help me?”

“I’m not turning you in,” he fired back. “I’m turning myself in.”

“What?”

“I’m turning myself in as the cateran. ’Tis the only way. ’Twould only bring shame to your clan for the laird’s daughter to be exposed as a thief,” he explained. “The Boyles may be dunderheads, but they’re not cattle reivers, so ’tisn’t right they should take the blame. Still, they know my face now. They’ll surely tell your father I’m the one who stole his coo and tied them up. ’Tis far better if I return the coo myself and confess to the laird before they have the chance to accuse me.”

For a moment, she only stared at him in amazement.

Then she said, “Ye would do that? Ye would take the blame for my thievin’?”

Her surprise irritated him. Had he not just said so? What else would she expect him to do? Did she not know about chivalry? About honor? What kind of a villain would not protect a lady? But he replied simply, “Of course.”

“But ye’ll bring shame upon your clan.”

He shrugged. “’Twouldn’t be the first time.” His impulsive actions were always getting him into awkward scrapes. “They’re used to it by now.”

Her gaze softened. She lowered her shoulders. And when her lips opened with a grateful sigh, it took all his willpower not to pull the awestruck woman into his arms and capture her mouth with his own.

“That’s so very honorable of ye,” she gushed, “offerin’ to sacrifice yourself for my sake.”

He dismissed her praise with a grunt. “I wouldn’t be much of a knight if I had no honor.”

“And I’m grateful for the gesture. Truly I am. But…”

“Aye?”

“I won’t return my coo.”

And just like that, her enchantment over him shattered into a thousand pieces.

“What?”

“I won’t give him back.”

Ire began to bubble under the surface of his stolid demeanor. What was it about this coo? Was it some sort of magical beast? He’d gone out of his way to come to the lady’s rescue. And now he was offering to bend over backwards for her to keep her out of trouble. To think she was refusing his help…

He clamped his teeth together hard enough to crack walnuts. It would do no good to lose his temper with the lass. He had to try to use reason.

But before he could explain to her that she couldn’t keep the coo, that stealing was wrong, she blurted out, “I can’t return him. I don’t expect ye to understand why. Nobody does.”

Her words—so raw, so hurt, so vulnerable—shot him straight through the heart, wounding him to the core. His ire dissolved like iron in a crucible.

If there was one thing Hew prided himself on, it was understanding women.

He knew they sometimes felt small and powerless. Insignificant and unheard. As if their thoughts and hopes and dreams didn’t matter.

But they did matter. They mattered to him.

“I want to understand,” he told her.

“Ye don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

She blinked in surprise, then lowered her gaze. “Ye’ll only think me foolish.”

“Tell me.” He clasped her arm. “I pray you.”

Carenza never let men touch her unbidden. She was skilled at diplomatically ducking away from their attempts. She could peel their fingers off of her person, smiling all the while. Make them feel as if they’d earned her affections even while she sidled out of their reach.

But the Viking’s massive hand wrapped around her arm didn’t feel like a dalliance or an intrusion. It felt curiously like a comfort.

Through his touch, she could feel the warmth of his blood. The strength of his muscles. The sincerity of his words.

She had no desire to wrest free of him.

Indeed, she wanted to tell him her reasons for keeping Hamish, even though she knew he wouldn’t understand.

She gazed at the ground and murmured, “My da means to kill him.”

His thumb rubbed along her arm as he considered his response. “He is…a coo.”

She sighed. She knew that.

“And he’s, what, five, six years old?”

“Six.”

“And your clan,” he ventured, “they have roast for supper, aye?”

She nodded, and her eyes began to fill with tears. She knew he wouldn’t understand. She hardly understood herself.

“And you?” he asked softly. “You eat roast for supper?”

“Aye,” she confessed, sniffling as she spoke her hypocrisy aloud. “But ’tisn’t Hamish. ’Tisn’t the coo I raised from a calf…who lays his head upon my lap…and lets me sing him to sleep. ’Tisn’t the beast who comes trottin’ across the field to me when I call. Who lets me scratch him behind the ears…and helps me watch o’er the new bairns.”

“He does all that?”

She nodded.

“Ah, my lady,” he said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “But I do understand. You have a gentle nature and a kind heart. ’Tis a commendable thing in a person.”

The compassion in his voice was unexpected and moving. Still, she sensed there was a “but” coming. And she refused to be swayed by his sweet words, no matter how comforting or reasonable they seemed.

“But what do you think will—”

Before he could come up with some perfectly convincing counter argument, she seized the front of his plaid in her desperate fists and blurted out, “Ye have to let him go. Hamish saved your life. Ye owe him his.”

Her gesture startled him. His eyes widened as he stared back into hers. Then his gaze drifted toward her lips.

For an instant, she wondered if he meant to kiss her.

Even worse, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have welcomed it.

Hew knew, if he stood there another moment, he’d toss all his honorable intentions into the abyss, gather the wet-eyed woman in his arms, and kiss away each and every tear. In this intimate situation, even the beast roaring in his braies didn’t believe him capable of restraint.

But he dared not let that beast have its way. Instead, he had to follow his heart.

Unfortunately, his heart was foolish and weak-willed.

And that was how the next unwise words spilled from his careless lips.

“Fine,” he croaked out. “I’ll do it. I’ll save your coo.”

She let out a soft, grateful cry. The sheer joy that shone in her face was worth the offer he’d made. At least in the moment. Later he’d have time to regret his promise. But for now, the way she unfurled and pressed her hands against his chest, the way her mouth fell open in wonder, the way her liquid eyes poured into his with thanks and adoration, she made him feel like her hero.

In the next moment, of course, she grew aware of their improper proximity. She was a titled lady, after all. Her father might guard her with an iron glare. But even without his supervision, she would naturally follow society’s rules.

Except, apparently, when it came to coos.

She took a judicious step backward and lowered her gaze. “My thanks, sir.”

He managed a sickly smile and let out a long breath.

God’s bones. What had he done? This was just the sort of reckless behavior that always got him into trouble.

What was he going to do now?

He had no intention of doing what she wanted most—walking away and letting her continue on her perilous journey alone through the mountains.

And he certainly couldn’t go with her. It was bad enough to confess to reiving cattle. He couldn’t afford to be accused of abducting a noblewoman as well. Not again.

“You need to return to Dunlop,” he told her. “It grows late. Your father will miss you.”

“But Hamish…”

“I’ll take him.”

“Ye don’t know the path or where I was goin’. Ye don’t know Hamish. And he doesn’t know ye. What if ye fall again?”

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. She wasn’t going to like his answer. Hell, he didn’t like his answer. But it was the only way.

“You—I’m taking back to Dunlop. The coo—I’m taking to the monastery.”

“What? Nay.”

“I’ll keep him safe,” he vowed, wondering how on earth he was going to do that.

“Ye’ll sell him,” she accused.

“Nay, I won’t. I promise.”

“Or ye’ll slaughter and eat him.”

“I told you, I’ll protect him.”

“Ye swear?”

“On my honor.”

“But for how long?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. “It grows late. Let’s chat on the way,” he said, nodding down the trail.

“He’ll need food,” she said, coiling her hand in the coo’s fur to guide him along the path while Hew followed. “The grass at the monastery is nigh gone. So ye’ll have to purchase hay.”

Hew frowned. Purchase hay? Already this was sounding like far more responsibility than he’d anticipated. Not to mention that what went in came out. The abbot certainly wouldn’t put up with a cloister covered in coo shairn.

“I’ll send ye coin for the hay, o’ course,” she assured him. “I can’t imagine ye brought much if ye’re staying at the monastery.”

He grunted.

“Why are ye staying at a monastery?” she asked.

He wasn’t at liberty to say. He’d promised to keep the monastery thefts secret. Instead he told her the first thing that popped into his head. “I’m thinking of…of taking my vows.”

She coughed. Or choked. Or laughed. He wasn’t sure which.

After a long and uncomfortable silence, she finally replied, “Ye should probably tell my father about your vows then. He’s invited ye for Samhain supper, and I fear he has hopes ye will offer to court me.”

Hew suddenly regretted his pathetic lie. On the other hand, he supposed the lie would help him keep his vow of chastity. Besides, it was too late to repair the damage.

They traveled in silence after that, focusing on the dimly lit path.

By the time they descended and emerged upon the field again, the Boyle brothers could be seen snoring away on the hillside, surrounded by the cattle.

By the time they reached the woods at the entrance of Dunlop, Hew figured the visitor had already departed and returned to the monastery.

He nodded toward the castle, whispering, “How will you get back in?”

“I can steal past the guard.”

“He must not be a very good guard.”

“I may have spilled aqua vitae into his beer earlier,” she confessed.

He raised a brow. The lass’s lovely and innocent face clearly concealed a devious mind.

But she instantly turned back into a supplicant angel with guileless eyes, beseeching him, “Pray take good care o’ Hamish.”

He could no more refuse her than he could turn down a challenge to battle. “I will.”

She gave the beast a final squeeze of farewell. Then she glanced at Hew. He wondered if she meant to give him a hug goodbye as well.

But she only nodded. “On the morrow, I’ll send someone to the monastery with coin for his hay.”

Then she whirled away.

“Come along then, Hamish,” Hew said, threading his fingers through the coo’s shaggy hair to guide him down the road.

Each step away from Dunlop was fraught with more misgiving.

As with most of his plans made in the heat of passion, Hew hadn’t thought anything through. He’d only wanted to return the smile to the lass’s face.

Now he was saddled with a huge hulking coo stolen from the local laird. A useless animal he could neither sell nor butcher. A male beast he couldn’t even claim he’d purchased for milk and cheese. Going to a monastery that had no ferme or cattle of its own.

What would he tell the abbot?

Where would he say he got the creature?

Where would he pasture it?

And where would it sleep?

He shivered. As cold as it was, it was tempting to let Hamish curl up with him in his cell.

And not for the first time, he wished he’d taken the coo to Dunlop and brought the lady with him.