Chapter Fourteen
After they returned to the camp, the women and bairns crowded around them, eager for the goods they’d brought back. Hugh dismounted, but it appeared Roisin was still irked with him as she swiftly dismounted her mare before he could assist her.
He had no idea how to breach the gulf that had cracked open between them and wasn’t sure why she’d taken such offense to his comments.
He had only wanted to end the conversation before he said something incriminating in front of Symon.
God knew, he almost had. Five years ago, when the MacGregors had seized land and murdered several Campbells in the process, the earl had been left with no choice but to respond.
Any man would have done the same to protect his clan.
Except for a dangerous moment, he’d forgotten Symon was listening to every word. Forgotten that he was living the life of an outcast in a rebel MacGregor camp and that his only tenuous link to survival was maintaining the masquerade of loyalty to Darragh and his clan.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Roisin as she led her mare across the plateau to his tent, where Grear and her wee dog greeted her as though she’d been gone for a month.
And then he lost sight of her as Darragh stood in his line of sight, his arms folded, the familiar grim expression on his face.
“Any trouble?” He addressed his comment to Symon.
“No, the market was busy. We won’t be remembered.”
Darragh transferred his one-eyed gaze to Hugh. “Did the lass behave herself?”
The lack of respect in Darragh’s tone when he referred to Roisin irritated him but since defending her would only draw more unwelcome attention her way, he locked it down. Even if it did nearly choke him. “Aye.”
Darragh glanced at the women who were transferring the goods they’d bought to the tents. “We’ll be moving on at first light.”
Taken aback, Hugh forgot caution. “Why?”
Darragh returned his attention to him. “’Tis my decision, that’s why.”
Hugh clamped his jaw shut, but inside frustration raged. Although his missive to the earl would reassure Roisin’s kin that she was alive and well, the carefully coded directions to the town, where he’d hoped to ensure her safe transfer to the earl’s men, would be for naught.
“Did something happen while we were gone?” There was no hint of Symon’s usual cheerful manner.
“No. I made the decision after Hugh brought the MacDonald lass into the camp. I’m not happy keeping her with us. We’ll meet up with our MacGregor brothers in the east, who have more resources to leverage her safe return to her kin.”
Outraged, Hugh glared at the older man. “Ye said ye wouldn’t use her as a hostage.”
Darragh shrugged. “Changed my mind.”
“Come, Sergeant.” Symon grasped his arm. “We’ve work to do.”
Hugh took a deep breath as Darragh turned away and made his way over to the other men before he glanced at Symon.
“What work?” He sounded disgruntled but couldn’t help himself. All he wanted to do was seek out Roisin and clear the air between them.
In answer, Symon took the bridle of his horse and led the way to the far end of the plateau beyond the rocky outcrop where they let the horses drink from the river.
As they removed their horses’ saddles, Hugh reluctantly acknowledged the other man had done the right thing in cutting short the conversation with Darragh.
Goddamn it. It was becoming harder by the hour to keep his thoughts to himself whenever Roisin was involved.
“’Twas always Lady Roisin, wasn’t it?”
Hugh shot him a sharp look. “What?”
“The bonny lass ye told me about in Eire. She was never yers though, was she?”
Hugh glared at him as denials tumbled through his mind. But before he could push out a credible rebuttal, Symon added, “I can see why ye fell for her, and I don’t mean her noble blood or even her face. She looks as sweet as honey, but she’d keep any man on his toes with that quick tongue of hers.”
In Eigg, she’d never said a sharp word in his hearing, nor given him a disapproving glance or argued with him the way she had since they had crossed paths again yesterday.
She’d been gentle and kind and all his protective instincts had roared to the surface, along with the fantasy of one day calling her his, so he could defend her from the world forever.
Goddamn it. She was still gentle and kind. But he had never imagined she possessed this other side of her, where she didn’t agree with everything he said, but questioned his beliefs and rebutted his comments, and he didn’t simply find the revelation astonishing.
The discovery made her more irresistible than ever.
Symon shook his head and shrugged. “Don’t worry, Sergeant, I’ll not say a word to Darragh. No wonder ye never spoke of her again. Ye never had a chance to win a noblewoman like her.”
At least Symon was right about that. He’d never had a chance with her, not from the moment the earl had summoned him to Castle Campbell last spring.
There was no point telling Symon he was wrong.
It would only make Hugh’s denial look suspicious.
All he could do was continue with the subterfuge that he was a lowborn Campbell and not the son of a well-respected, if not vastly wealthy, laird.
For no peasant could hope to win the hand of a noblewoman who could trace her lineage back for almost a thousand years.
“She must never know.” His voice was hoarse, and he tightened his grip around the saddle he held as he thought of the inkwell he’d bought at the market, now secure in his saddlebag.
It had been a hasty transaction, without the bartering he usually employed, but he hadn’t been able to risk either Roisin or Symon discovering what he was doing. “Give me yer word, Symon.”
Symon gave him a strange look. “Ye have it, but are ye blind, man? The lady can scarcely keep her eyes from ye. I’m certain she knows well how ye feel about her.”
Christ, he hoped not. The memory of their kiss burned through him, a mocking echo reminding him that was all he’d ever have and curse the heavens, but it wasn’t nearly enough. “Lady Roisin was merely playing along, as I asked her to.”
“If ye say so.” It was obvious Symon thought he’d lost his mind. “Though there was no need for any deception when it was just the three of us in the room at the inn, was there, now?”
Hugh swung away from Symon’s curious gaze and began to groom Deagh Fhortan.
No, there hadn’t been any need for him to hold her hands or become entrapped in her innocent gaze, and yet he had.
He couldn’t help himself. And now he’d given away the fact he and Roisin had known each other before the bandits had attacked her.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Symon to keep his word.
For all that he was a MacGregor, the man had proven himself throughout the time Hugh had known him.
It was because Symon had so easily guessed Roisin was the lass Hugh had been thinking of that night so many months ago when reckless secrets had been shared that rattled him.
But no one else knew of that and there was no reason why anyone here should suspect he and Roisin had met before yesterday.
Still, he needed to be more careful. Innis had already guessed he was more interested in Roisin than he should be.
He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, not even for a moment, if he wanted to keep their brief, shared past concealed.
*
Roisin pulled out the napkin of food and the apples from the saddlebags and she and Grear took them into the tent.
She’d seen how much fresh food Hugh and Symon had brought back and no longer felt guilty about not sharing her small hoard with the women.
And even though she had a feeling Innis would ensure she and Grear received their fair share of supper tonight, it was still comforting to have a little spare food in the tent.
“Did anyone bother ye while I was gone?” She gazed anxiously at Grear, who shook her head.
“No, milady. I stayed with the women, as mistress Innis promised, and looked after the bairns.”
Although she’d trusted Innis to keep her word, it was a relief to hear Grear confirm it.
As Grear and Ecne tucked into their pasties, she took out her knife and cut up one of the apples to share with her dog.
But her mind wasn’t on her task. No matter how she tried to stop herself, she couldn’t help replaying her last conversation with Hugh.
Indeed, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it throughout the journey back to the camp, and by the time they’d arrived, she had reached the uneasy conclusion that maybe Hugh had shut down their conversation because of Symon.
Not because of her, at all.
She gave an impatient sigh as she gave Ecne a slice of apple. Was that really true, or did she simply hope it was? She was certain she hadn’t misinterpreted his interest when he had been on Eigg, or since they’d met again in the Highlands, and he had never spoken to her so abruptly before.
She sat on the edge of her trunk and pulled the kerchief from her head.
Before her sisters had wed, they had both had moments where they’d doubted the sincerity of William and Alasdair.
Roisin had never quite understood it. To her, it had been as bright as starlight that Isolde and William, and Freyja and Alasdair, had belonged together.
Alas, it was very different when she tried to sort out the tangles between herself and Hugh. Even Amma didn’t believe they belonged together and that was before Roisin had discovered Hugh had been banished from his clan. God only knew what her grandmother would think of him now.
There was a muffled tap on the flap of the tent and Grear pulled it open to reveal Hugh standing there.
Hastily she straightened her spine, grateful that Ecne distracted his attention by pawing his boot in greeting.
It gave her a welcome moment to compose herself.
Although, who was she trying to fool? She lost her composure every time she caught sight of the man.