Chapter Eight #2
It was a torturous night. And Hugh wasn’t thinking of the hard ground. He’d slept in worse places than on a damp pile of moss and at least it hadn’t rained again for which he was thankful.
The reason for his discomfort was because just an arm’s length from where he lay, was Roisin. He heard her whispered conversations with her maid, although he couldn’t discern the words, and her dog’s snuffling sounded strangely loud in the still night air.
Despite the long day, sleep eluded him as he stared into the dark sky, where stars glittered through the gaps in the clouds.
Since the earl had banished him from his old life, it wasn’t a rare thing for him to be awake at night where his thoughts invariably drifted to the brief, shining moments he’d spent with Roisin.
How many times had he fantasized about sharing his bed with her? Or imagined how she’d look, with her hair spread over his pillows? Even though the nightly visions had tormented him with their inevitable impossibility of ever coming true, in an odd way they’d also kept him sane.
’Twas never a good thing to tempt fate with deeply buried wishes and that was the truth. Roisin was, if ye counted his tent, all but in his bed, and God knew, that damn tent was nearly all he owned right now, and yet she had never been further away from him.
In the early hours of the morn, he undertook his usual two-hour watch, but he spent as much time scanning the camp to ensure no man went near his tent as he did on lookout for any suspicious activity in the surrounding area.
’Twas no good. He could scarcely concentrate on anything without weighing up how those actions affected Roisin’s safety.
The responsibility didn’t simply lay across his shoulders like a mantle.
From the moment he’d caught her in the forest, the knowledge that her very life depended upon whatever he said or did had consumed him like a veritable fever.
It was glaringly obvious that the longer Roisin remained under his protection, the harder it was to keep his hard-won facade as a redshank from cracking.
They’d been in the camp for less than half a day and he wasn’t sure how long it would be before Darragh guessed he had known Roisin before rescuing her from the bandits.
And if the MacGregor chieftain suspected that truth, he’d soon conclude Hugh was no ordinary mercenary.
It was a relief when dawn broke across the mountains, and he could finally stop pretending to sleep. Except for a couple of the men who were finishing their night watch, no one stirred, and he took advantage of the silence to build a small fire and fetch some water for Roisin’s and Grear’s use.
Once that was done, he stood and glanced at the tent. It was still early, likely too early for a lady such as Roisin to rise, but already the MacGregors were stirring, leaving their tents and starting the day. Should I wake Roisin?
She slept in his tent, but it felt like a violation to enter it without being invited. Instead, he checked his horse that he kept tethered close by, and the familiar action of grooming the magnificent creature managed to release some of the tension that coiled through every muscle he possessed.
There was still no indication that Roisin and her maid had awoken, and so he took Deagh Fhortan across the plateau, beyond the rocky outcrop, where a river wound down the mountain, and while Fhortan drank from the fresh water, he inspected his sword and daggers.
It was a ritual he undertook every morning and usually it cleared his mind of any nighttime hauntings of what his future might entail should the earl never recall him home.
But this morning he wasn’t thinking of the life he’d once had.
It was Roisin’s plight that plagued him.
How the devil he could return her to her kin if the earl didn’t receive and act on his missive?
But first he had to send the damn missive.
He sheathed his weapons and took Fhortan’s bridle.
He needed to speak to Darragh about Roisin and her maid accompanying him to the town, and he also needed to have a word with Elspeth.
He wasn’t looking forward to that, but it couldn’t be helped and the anger that had burned through him yesterday evening when he’d realized how poorly she’d been treated threatened to surface once again.
The alternative to speaking with Elspeth was to share his own meals with Roisin. Not that he minded. But he had the distinct feeling she had minded very much.
With a frustrated sigh he rounded the outcrop and spied Darragh talking to a couple of his men. He waited until they walked off before approaching the older man.
“Darragh, I’ve a suggestion.” It was, he’d quickly discovered, always better to offer suggestions rather than a proposition to the chieftain, even if the outcome was the same.
“What’s that, then?” Darragh spared him a fleeting glance.
“Two strangers wanting to sell horses in the town might cause questions to be asked. But if Symon and I are accompanied by Lady Roisin and her maid, we can pass more easily as travelers needing to fund our passage.”
Darragh was silent for a moment, clearly contemplating the change of plan before he abruptly turned on his heel and strode across the plateau to where Hugh had pitched his tent.
Christ, what was Darragh going to do, rip open the tent flap and inform Roisin she was taking an unexpected ride?
Irritated by the man’s attitude, and alarmed that he’d further upset Roisin, Hugh hastened to his side.
But Darragh didn’t burst into his tent. He paused a short distance from it, and Hugh came to a halt as he took in the scene before him.
Roisin, the women, and their bairns were sitting around the fire he’d built, and they were all enjoying a breakfast of bannocks.
Taken aback, he could only stare as Innis tore the last bannock in the basket in half and handed one piece to Roisin, who in turn pulled her share apart and gave some to Grear.
What in the name of God had happened since last night for the MacGregor women to change their stance regarding Roisin? Even Ecne had a large bone to chew on. It was uncanny, and while he was relieved for her sake, he couldn’t help but feel he was missing something fundamental.
“My lady,” Darragh said, addressing Roisin. There was a noticeable trace of disdain in his voice which set Hugh’s hackles rising. “Ye’ll be accompanying Hugh and Symon to the town this morning when they go to trade the horses, to alleviate suspicion that they’re wanted outlaws.”
Not the way he would have shared the news, but it was the truth nevertheless.
She shot him a startled glance and he offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. But before he had the chance to say anything, Darragh continued. “Before ye get any ideas in that pretty little head of yers, yer maid and dog will remain here in the camp to ensure ye behave yerself.”
Goddamn it. That wasn’t the plan. He shoved aside his ire at how Darragh had called Roisin’s character into question, since there wasn’t anything he could do about that, and focused on his original plan. “Less suspicion will fall our way if Symon also has a young woman by his side.”
But that wasn’t the only reason he’d suggested Grear accompany them. She was Roisin’s personal maid and seemed to go everywhere with her mistress. Besides which, Roisin was of noble blood and noblewomen did not journey alone with two men.
Roisin pushed herself to her feet. The color had leached from her cheeks, and she gazed at Darragh as though he were the devil himself. “I’ll not leave Grear and Ecne to fend for themselves.”
Although her voice shook, she didn’t drop her gaze from Darragh, and neither did she back down when he offered her an unfriendly smile. “Ye’re our guest, and will be treated as such, but ye’re in no position to make demands.”
“Darragh, I can vouch for the lady’s integrity. She’ll not raise the alarm.”
“Ye can vouch for her integrity, can ye, after knowing her for less than a day?”
Curse his unwary tongue. But there was no help for it but to brazen it out. “Aye. Ye have my word.”
Finally, Darragh turned his attention to him. “The word of a Campbell means nothing to me. Ye’ve proved yer worth and that’s the only reason ye’re here. Do not test me, Hugh.”
How the hell had this morning turned so quickly?
He knew damn well he was barely tolerated by Darragh MacGregor, but until he’d brought Roisin into the camp, he’d managed to avoid antagonizing him.
And he needed to continue to avoid doing so, if he wanted to protect Roisin until he returned her to her kin.
Innis stood and briefly touched Roisin’s shoulder.
“We will ensure Grear and yer dog are safe,” she said, and he stared at her in growing incredulity.
Innis, as Elspeth’s niece, wielded almost as much power in the group as both her aunt and Darragh and if she’d decided to accept Roisin, he no longer had to fear she’d be overlooked or disrespected.
Yet yesterday Innis hadn’t even tried to hide her contempt for Roisin.
“There ye are.” There was a thread of amusement in Darragh’s voice now. “No need to fret about yer maid or dog now.” He turned to Hugh. “’Tis a fair plan to pose as a newlywed couple accompanied by yer brother. We’ll use that trick again in the next town.”
Hugh clamped his jaw shut to avoid any more incautious words from escaping as Darragh marched off, before he chanced looking at Roisin. At least she no longer looked as though she was about to faint, and he expelled a relieved breath.
“Ye needn’t look so pleased with yerself, Hugh.” Innis gave him a probing look which under the circumstances he felt was entirely unwarranted. “Ye can play make believe that Roisin is yer bride as much as yer like, but if ye lay one finger on her, ye’ll have me to answer to.”
Inordinately irked, he glared at her. He’d lost almost everything since he had first met Roisin, but by God he still had his integrity and Innis’s unsubtle accusation, in front of Roisin, no less, cut deep.
He sucked in a harsh breath and turned to Roisin, who was staring at him as though she expected him to grow horns and cloven feet at any moment.
“’Twas not my idea to pose as man and wife.
” No, because that elusive possibility was something too deeply buried inside his tattered soul to be so lightly exploited.
Nothing more than a dream he’d once had and held onto through all the dark times.
He forced those lost hopes back into the abyss and pushed out words that curdled his gut. “I shall present ye as my sister.”
Innis actually laughed and he shot her another disgruntled glare.
He didn’t want an audience while he was trying to persuade Roisin of the merits of the plan, but he could scarcely tell Innis to leave.
And not just because she was related to Darragh and Elspeth, but because, between last night and now, she had taken a shine to Roisin.
“Yer sister?” Innis cast a mocking glance between him and Roisin. “Trust me, that’s a terrible idea and ye will never get away with such a story.”
Heat scorched through him. This morning was going from bad to worse.
He’d been so certain he had hidden how he felt about her.
Christ, the last thing he wanted was for Roisin to guess that truth.
It had been different on Eigg, when, even as the second son of his father, he’d had a future and a home to offer her and had promised himself that he’d one day return to Sgur Castle to ask for her hand.
But now he had nothing of value to offer her and he didn’t want to risk seeing the shock, or worse, on her face if she guessed that he’d once harbored such intentions about her.
Far better to let her believe anything but that.
“We will pose as man and wife.” Roisin tilted her head at him, as if daring him to contradict her. Relieved she appeared agreeable to the proposition, he kept his mouth shut and merely gave a sharp nod of agreement. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as ye are ready.” As far as he was concerned, she looked ready to face the world with her dark blue, green and black plaid shawl around her shoulders, and a soft blue gown that clung to her curves as the highland breeze gusted across the plateau.
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, but he couldn’t tear his mesmerized gaze from her.
As usual, her hair was in a loose plait that trailed over her shoulder, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was how those auburn tresses had tumbled down her back when she had been in his tent yesterday afternoon.
“I’m ready now.” Her gaze caught his, and for a heartbeat he was certain she was about to say more, but instead she shook her head, as if trying to dislodge unpleasant thoughts, before she turned to her maid and took her hand. “All will be well. I shall return shortly.”