Chapter Fifteen
They had been traveling for four days, going deeper into the mountains but although they traveled farther away from Creagdoun with every passing hour, he knew they were heading in the general direction where the earl had one of his manors.
The previous day, Hugh had managed to send another message to the earl from a small town they had bypassed, under the pretext of buying a few essential supplies for the camp.
Surprisingly, Darragh hadn’t objected nor insisted another man accompany him, but Hugh always worked under the assumption that he was being watched and hadn’t taken any chances.
He just hoped the earl had received his first message already and was aware of the situation regarding Roisin. Because until he did, Hugh couldn’t expect to receive word from him at any of the towns or villages he managed to visit on the way to wherever the hell it was Darragh was leading them.
As he pitched his tent in Darragh’s designated small clearing, he surreptitiously watched Roisin as she helped the women prepare supper. And, as always, whenever he looked at her, a bittersweet ache filled his chest that this was all he would ever have of her.
It had been sheer good luck no one had caught them in the tent the other day when he’d lost his mind and all but made her his. Christ, how close he’d been to taking her. Even now he could scarcely believe he had managed to retain at least a sliver of integrity and resist the temptation.
Every night her face, as she had fallen apart in his arms, haunted his dreams, and every morning he awoke with lust pounding through his veins, frustration hammering at his temples, and an erection so damn hard he could scarcely function.
With grim determination, he tore his besotted gaze from her and concentrated on securing his tent.
But his cock thickened, despite his best intentions, and his mind endlessly replayed Roisin’s soft gasps and the way her body had responded to his touch as though the fates drew pleasure from his discomfort.
Yet, as surely the devil himself knew, Hugh would have it no other way.
By the time he’d finished, Roisin had taken the bairns to the edge of the campsite where, doubtless, she was spinning them another of her tales of the mythical fae folk from Eire.
Ecne lay in front of her, his head on her satchel that she’d placed on the ground, and her writing case was propped against her knees.
On the other side of the camp the men had congregated, and by rights that was where he should head, on the off chance that Darragh might let slip more information on where they were going.
Except Hugh knew the other man would never share anything by accident.
To hell with it. There was never any doubt in his mind that he’d make his way to Roisin, the way he had every day this week since they’d left the plateau. His pledge to keep his distance, and maintain the illusion she meant nothing to him, had crumbled before the masquerade had even begun.
But in the end, it didn’t matter. No one cared that he couldn’t hide his interest in her. The only thing that mattered was no one guessed they’d known each other longer than a few days, and the only reason why Symon knew was because Hugh had shared his secret on that long-ago, drink-fueled night.
He didn’t care if the women made good natured jests, so long as they were always aimed at him. Which they were. The women appeared to have welcomed Roisin as one of their own. While he still had no idea what had happened to change their minds about her, he was just relieved they had.
As for the men, they could say what they liked, but in the end they were guided by their womenfolk in such matters, and he didn’t give a damn about their mockery. It was a negligible price to pay for the chance to spend a few peaceful moments in Roisin’s company.
He strolled over to her and hunkered down outside the circle of entranced bairns, but close enough to Roisin so he could see what she was drawing.
It was a sketch of Rhona, wearing a crown of flowers that weaved through her hair as she danced through a forest, and the breath caught in his throat at the detail Roisin had wrought with her quill.
“The magical lights danced over the dark sea, and the fierce Pict queen led her fearless warriors into the waves.” Roisin paused in her drawing to send a sweet smile his way that instantly reignited the fire in his blood, before she continued with her tale.
“’Tis said the lights were the slain monks’ vengeance for the queen and her warriors having slaughtered them, but ’tis my belief the great sea god of the Tuatha De Danann, Manannan mac Lir, rode his mighty horse across the water, calling the queen and her women home to him. ”
“Did they all die?” one little lad asked in awe.
“Maybe they did,” Roisin said. “But as long as we remember them and tell their tales, no one truly dies.”
Innis called the bairns to come over to her, and Roisin handed Rhona her drawing, who looked thrilled with it. As the bairns left and Roisin cleaned the nib of her quill, he shifted closer to her.
“Which mythical tale was that? I don’t recall it from those ye shared with me before.”
She glanced at him, and it took all his willpower not to steal another kiss from her. “I didn’t tell ye this one. ’Tis the history of our Pict queen foremother, who refused to give up her land for the Christian monks to build their monastery on our isle.”
“So she slaughtered them?”
“That’s how the story goes. But she passed down her edict to her eldest daughter, who didn’t perish in the sea like all the other women.”
“Her edict?” Once again, he was drawn under the spell of her storytelling, just as he had been on the Isle of Eigg. Although, truth be told, she could tell him the most mundane of things and she’d still manage to bewitch him.
“That the daughters of Sgur can never leave our isle.”
“That was the command she wanted handed down through countless generations?”
Roisin frowned and dusted the end of her quill across her lips as though she were considering the matter.
“’Tis more than a command, and yet—” she hesitated and then shook her head as though trying to dislodge troublesome thoughts.
“Her edict has been handed down from mother to daughter for over nine hundred years. ’Tis not something to be taken lightly.
But there have never been three daughters of Sgur in the same generation before which, I feel, is a powerful portent. ”
Despite enjoying her story, he was skeptical. “There is no way ye can possibly know that for sure, Roisin. ’Tis far more likely that many daughters have been born than not.”
“Ye may be right,” she conceded. “But my mother was the only daughter of Amma, and Amma was the only daughter of my great grandmother. And she, in turn, was the only daughter born of her mother. We can trace our blood kin back for many generations and the single daughter holds true throughout. But although what ye say is possible, ’tis just as possible what we’ve always been told is true. ”
He had to admit the truth of what she said. “Maybe. But it seems unlikely it could have happened in an unbroken chain for nine hundred years.” And then the obvious occurred to him. “Did yer fierce Pict queen curse her bloodline, then?”
“Curse?” Roisin seemed confused. “What do ye mean?”
“I mean did she weave a spell or some such that her descendants would never produce a son and only a single daughter every generation?” Not that he believed in such things as spells, of course.
But nine hundred years ago, when the Picts, with their pagan beliefs, had still held power across the Highlands, who knew what might have occurred?
“Oh.” Now she appeared amused. “No, ’tis not a curse.
And for yer information many sons have been born over the centuries.
But Sgur passed through the matrilineal line, even before there was a castle built on the land.
As the eldest daughter, it was always assumed Isolde would inherit, but Amma betrothed her to William because she was certain Isolde’s path did not lay on Eigg. ”
And then he saw where she was heading with this. “And after Lady Freyja wed Alasdair, the inheritance fell to ye.”
Roisin sighed. “’Tis a strange thing when ye believe something is certain all yer life, only to discover…” she paused and bit her lip. “That it isn’t.”
“Is that what ye mean about this being a powerful portent?” He still couldn’t make sense of that comment. “Because of how unlikely it was that ye’d inherit, with two older sisters?”
“No.” She dropped her gaze, and her fingers played with the feather of her quill. “I’ve never spoken of it before, even though it’s something that’s troubled me since I was a small bairn.”
He took her hand and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze, wishing they were alone so he could pull her into his arms and kiss her worries away. “Ye know ye can tell me anything, Roisin.”
She shook her head. “My sisters think I’m fanciful. I’ll not deny it. But I’ve always thought it strange how neither of them, nor even Amma, saw the significance.”
She’d lost him, but he didn’t like to admit it. Yet he couldn’t help himself. “What significance?”
“Three is a powerful number, Hugh.”
He’d never thought about it before. “I suppose it is,” he said, but couldn’t hide the doubt in his voice although Roisin didn’t seem to notice.
“’Tis always three.” Her voice was hushed. An eerie shiver raked along his arms. “Birth, life and death. The maiden, the mother and the crone. Three is woven through so many of the ancient myths and legends, and why do ye think that is?”
She didn’t appear to expect him to answer, as she continued with scarcely a pause. “Because it is a sacred number. And I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that our Pict queen ancestor is somehow reaching through the years to tell us something.”
It was a fanciful concept, indeed, but he didn’t like to voice his disbelief in case he hurt her feelings. “’Tis an interesting idea for sure.”
“And I have always wondered if perhaps we’ve never fully understood what she meant by—by her edict.”
He had the oddest sensation Roisin had been about to say something quite different and had inexplicably changed her mind at the last moment. “About not leaving the isle?”
She shrugged and focused on their clasped hands. “Amma is certain that once I return to Eigg, the edict will continue to be fulfilled. We only need one daughter to remain, after all.”
Something in her tone alerted him and he frowned. “Do ye not want to remain on Eigg, Roisin?”
She lifted her head, and their gazes meshed. “’Tis not that.” Her voice was soft. “I love Eigg and Sgur Castle. ’Tis the only home I’ve known. I know, in the end, that is my destiny.”
Ecne raised his head from her satchel and gave a little whine. She lay down her quill and stroked him, and he edged onto her lap, heedless of her writing case. With a grin, Hugh released her hand and picked up her writing case so the dog had more room, and a sheet of paper slid out.
“Oh.” Roisin sounded mortified and reached for the paper at the same time as he, and their fingers collided. But his gaze was fixed on the exquisitely crafted image on the paper. Was that him?
Hastily he released his grip, and Roisin pushed the paper back inside her writing case. For a few awkward moments silence reigned, and he didn’t know how to break it. Then Ecne pawed Roisin’s arm, and she expelled a ragged breath and finally caught his gaze.
“’Tis merely a sketch I did of ye when ye visited Sgur.”
“Do ye have any objection if I have a closer look?”
She scratched Ecne’s throat, and he had the feeling she was trying to think of an excuse to say no. Eventually she gave a great sigh and pulled the sketch from her writing case. “If ye must.”
He stared at the portrait, since calling this a sketch was scarcely short of slanderous. And while he had always known of her talent and had admired her drawing of Rhona a short while ago, it was completely different to be confronted with something so unexpected. The likeness was frankly uncanny.
“I’m sorry ye don’t like it.” Roisin attempted to take it from him, but he shook his head and lowered the portrait, so it rested on her knee.
“I do like it.” His voice was hushed. “I’m merely stunned into silence at yer brilliance, Roisin. I’ve never had my portrait done before.”
A delightful blush stained her cheeks, and she gave him a shy smile. “Brilliant, am I? Well, I’m gratified ye think so.”
He glanced at it again and noticed her signature rosebud in the corner, with her name encircling it. “If things were different, I should commission a portrait in oils from ye, and that’s a fact.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I’ve never painted in oils before, although I should very much like to. But ye can have that one, if ye really want it. I have plenty of others. Oh.” She slapped her hand across her mouth before shaking her head. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
He grinned, inordinately pleased by her confession. “Aye, and ye cannot take it back.”
“I shouldn’t wish to, although I never meant to tell ye.”
His mirth faded. Didn’t she deserve to hear the truth, now he had indisputable proof that the fleeting time they’d spent together on her isle had meant as much to her as it had to him?
“Roisin, I always intended to return to Eigg to see ye. I wasn’t simply spinning ye a pretty line to see ye smile.
But—” He couldn’t tell her the earl had summoned him and sent him into this life, no matter how much he wished he could. “It wasn’t to be.”
“I should so dearly like to know why ye’re living like this.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. The way she laid her hand on top of his was almost his undoing.
“Maybe ye’ll know one day,” he lied. Because there wasn’t any way she’d learn the truth from him, and who else could tell her? No one. Because, apart from the earl, no one else knew the truth.