Chapter Sixteen
It had been ten days since the brigands had attacked, and Roisin had ended up in the MacGregor camp. Sometimes it seemed she’d lived this way forever, and her life on Eigg was nothing more than a dream, and then she had to battle the clawing abyss of panic that tried to swamp her.
She wouldn’t let anyone see how every now and then she was so close to falling apart it frightened her.
Because all she had left was her pride, and when she compared her lot to those of these women and their bairns, at least she knew there was an end to her plight.
And not once had she witnessed any of the women come close to cracking.
If they could be brave, then so could she.
They had stopped for the night beside a river and as the men pitched the tents she’d joined the women and was doing some mending with Grear, with Ecne dozing at her side, while Elspeth oversaw the preparations for supper.
A couple of times over the last few days, one of the men had detoured to villages or towns and sold a horse, so the camp’s supplies were well-stocked.
Which meant the bairns were well-fed.
She stole a glance at Hugh, where he was pitching his tent a short distance from the others and as always whenever she looked at him, her heart melted. It wasn’t just the women’s stoicism that helped her get through the days. It was Hugh.
Who was she trying to fool? It was mainly Hugh who had managed to keep the terror of being ripped from everything she knew at bay. It wasn’t only that he was a link to her real life or that she had known him before.
He was the reason she was safe. The alternative of being captured by the brigands would have been infinitely worse, and a shudder inched along her spine at how easily that fate could have been hers and Grear’s.
Hugh straightened, wiped his brow with his forearm, and then he glanced her way. She smiled and when he grinned back, the lingering worry of her situation faded, as it always faded when he turned his charm her way.
But it was more than charm. He had told her so himself that he’d always intended to return to her after he had left Sgur.
And she believed him. There was no reason for him to lie.
And while she couldn’t wait to be reunited with her sisters and Amma, part of her didn’t want this strange existence to end, if it was the only way she could be with Hugh.
But no. She wasn’t going to think about that. Because when she left the camp, so would he.
Innis sat beside her. “Don’t be getting any ideas about that one,” she said as she began to darn Rhona’s wool stockings. “Nothing can come of it.”
Roisin’s cheeks heated and she tore her besotted gaze from Hugh and concentrated on her mending. Sometimes Innis’s blunt remarks reminded her of Freyja, except Innis wasn’t her older sister and didn’t have the right to reprimand her. “I’m not getting ideas.”
Instantly, her mind flew to the breathtaking tryst she and Hugh had shared in his tent a few days ago.
She replayed those moments so often, they were branded into her brain, and every morning she awoke with frustration blazing through her blood and fragmented echoes of passion-filled dreams haunting her mind.
Nothing close to that encounter had happened since and although she and Hugh had shared a few furtive kisses when they were sure no one was looking, she got the distinct impression he was deliberately avoiding being alone with her in the tent.
So, no. She wasn’t getting ideas. She didn’t need to. She already knew how Hugh felt about her.
“Good,” Innis said. “When ye return to yer kin, ye’ll need to put all this behind ye. There’s no future to be had between a lady of the Western Isles and a common Campbell outlaw.”
It was just the kind of thing her practical sister Freyja would say.
Except Hugh wasn’t of common stock, although unfortunately it couldn’t be denied he was currently an outlaw.
Still, she was optimistic the earl would pardon him for whatever crime he had committed once he learned how Hugh had saved her from ruin.
She should keep her mouth shut and agree with everything Innis said. Except she couldn’t. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Oh, aye.” Innis didn’t try to hide her skepticism. “In fae tales for bairns no doubt. But those kinds of miracles don’t happen in real life, Roisin. I’m only trying to keep ye from heartache.”
She knew Innis was only trying to be kind, but she made her feel like a bairn herself by the way she spoke to her. “Thank ye, but there’s no need for concern. I’ll be all right.”
“At least ye know enough not to go back to yer fine kin with a bellyful.”
Roisin shot her a scandalized look, but inside panic flickered to life.
Did Innis know what she and Hugh had done?
To be sure, there wasn’t any danger that she might have fallen pregnant, but it had still been foolish and risky, for anyone might have seen them.
But they’d been lucky. Or so she thought.
“I haven’t—Hugh would never—” Good Lord, she needed to stop talking before she completely gave herself away, if her burning face hadn’t done so already.
“Hugh is a man. If ye give him the slightest chance, he’ll take whatever he can get from ye.”
Outraged by the slight on Hugh’s honor, she couldn’t hold her tongue. “He most certainly would not.”
Innis shook her head. “’Tis yer life. I’m only reminding ye to beware. Ye may think this is a romantic way to live with yer very own outlaw, away from the responsibilities of yer kin and heritage. But the shine would soon wear off once winter descends.”
There was a thread of bitterness in Innis’s words, and just like that, Roisin’s indignation evaporated.
She had always felt badly for how the women and bairns had been forced into this life but none of the women had ever discussed it and she certainly hadn’t raised the subject.
But there was a pinched look on Innis’s face as she concentrated on her darning, and an air of angry resignation emanated from her and Roisin couldn’t remain silent.
“I know ’tis not my place.” Her voice was hushed, and she questioned the wisdom of continuing.
She didn’t want to offend Innis or be the recipient of a scathing retort but a stubborn part of her wanted the other woman to know of her regard.
“But I do admire yer strength, Innis. And I thank ye for welcoming me when ye have every reason not to.”
Innis shook her head and after a few moments of silence she sighed and gave her a weary look.
“Before this feud with the Campbells, my uncle Darragh was laird of a grand estate, and my husband owned two manors. We lost everything that had been in our families for generations. That is how easily it can happen, Roisin. Do not take yer good fortune for granted.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Innis gave a mirthless laugh. “Don’t be. ’Tis not yer fault. But mark my words. One day Clan MacGregor will rise again. We have the blood of MacAlpin, the first king of Scotland, running through our veins and that is what the Earl of Argyll cannot abide.”
She didn’t answer and concentrated on her mending, but Innis’s words echoed around her head. Was that the real reason why the MacGregors had raised arms against the Campbells, because, with their bloodline, they resented not being the most powerful clan in the Highlands?
It was possible. The news they received on Eigg came from travelers and merchants, and special messengers employed by Amma. But they only relayed what they had been told, and many of the reports came directly from the earl’s circle.
Long ago, the MacDonalds had ruled the Western Isles, until the Campbells, backed by the Crown, had grabbed much of the prestigious land for themselves.
It was all in the past now, and MacDonalds and Campbells no longer considered themselves mortal enemies.
But despite their alliances, old wounds still ran deep, and Clan MacDonald had never forgotten their formidable seafaring history.
She cast a surreptitious glance at Hugh, who had finished pitching his tent and was now leading his horse to the river.
Whatever Innis might think of her, she wasn’t so foolish as to imagine living on the run from the Earl of Argyll was in any way romantic.
But if it came to a choice between returning to Sgur Castle alone or remaining by Hugh’s side with an uncertain future, did she really know what her answer would be?
*
Hugh had just finished grooming Deagh Fhortan when one of the men who had been on lookout returned to the camp with a stranger by his side. He and Darragh grasped arms in greeting before walking along the riverbank away from the other men.
Unease prickled along the back of Hugh’s neck. Was the man from the MacGregor brothers in the east that Darragh had referred to? If so, what was he doing here?
Inevitably, his thoughts—and glance—returned to Roisin, where she was sitting with the women.
It had only been a week since he’d found her on the road but now he could barely recall what his existence had been like before she’d joined the camp.
He often rode beside her during the day while they traveled and Grear would ride ahead with one of the lasses she’d become friendly with, leaving them with the illusion of privacy.
During those times it was too easy to forget Roisin wasn’t here by choice.
And that, once he heard from the earl, their time together would end.
In the dead of night, when lust plagued his body and impossible dreams haunted his mind, the despicable hope clawed through him that he might never hear back from the earl.
When supper was ready, he sat beside Roisin, as he had done for the last few nights.
There had been no need to share his food with her since the first night, and Ecne had become a firm favorite with the bairns, who plied the wee thing with so many treats it was a wonder his belly didn’t touch the ground.
“Who is the visitor?” Roisin’s voice was low. “No one speaks of him.”
That was interesting. He’d assumed Elspeth and, by extension, Innis would know. But then, maybe they did and simply hadn’t passed on the information. Which didn’t ease the undertow of apprehension in the pit of his gut that had refused to settle since first seeing the stranger arrive.
“I’ll find out.” He had to, in case Roisin’s safety was impacted.
In all the weeks he’d been with the MacGregors, this was the first time a man had strolled into the camp, and as though he had every right to do so, too.
But what if he was connected to the bandits who had attacked Roisin a week ago?
His suspicion that a group of MacGregors could be behind the ambush had never left him, and if he was right, and this stranger was involved, Hugh doubted things would go well for him once the man learned a Campbell had killed some of his compatriots.
It was imperative he discover the man’s identity and whether he posed any threat. For if Hugh was executed in retaliation for foiling the ambush, there would be no one to protect Roisin.
After supper, as Roisin helped the other women to clear away, he sought out Symon, who was sitting on a rock by the river’s edge inspecting his sword. “Who is he?”
The other man swept his gaze across the camp and then addressed his sword. “His name is Fergus MacGregor, but I’ve never met him before. As far as I can tell, Darragh and Fergus grew up together.”
Hugh sat on a neighboring rock and proceeded to examine his dagger. “He just so happened to be in the area?”
“He’s on his way to the MacGregors in the east, where we’re heading. Sheer luck he crossed our path.”
Hugh wasn’t sure he believed in sheer luck. Although, he had to concede it had certainly been fortuitous when he’d come across Roisin last week. “He’ll be traveling with us?”
Symon sheathed his sword and caught Hugh’s gaze. “I don’t know. But I’ll tell ye one thing. There’s something about him that makes me uneasy.”
It wasn’t a welcome admission. Because it meant his own impression that Fergus MacGregor was a threat couldn’t be dismissed as purely the fact Hugh was here under false pretenses and needed to be suspicious of everyone.
He could only hope the man had no connection to the attack on Roisin and went his own way at first light.
*
Before the first streaks of dawn splashed across the sky, Hugh stealthily made his way to the river and after ensuring no one was yet stirring, except for the two men on the last shift of the night watch, he stripped and plunged into the fast-flowing water.
Even though it was the middle of summer the water was frigid. But at least it managed to dampen his erection, and he sucked in a sharp breath before completely submerging.
He stayed under, welcoming the biting chill that permeated into his very bones and whipped away the lingering remnants of sleep. When his lungs burned and he had no more breath left to hold, he burst to the surface, sucking in great gulps of air, as he swiped the water from his eyes.
And then he froze as an eldritch shiver scuttled along his spine and he spun about, senses on alert.
No one stood on the riverbank, but his heart still pounded, and he strode from the water as the uncomfortable certainty gnawed through him that just moments before someone had been watching him.
Watching him? Or worse? His gaze dropped to his clothes piled on the ground and something akin to panic gripped him. Had his belt been moved? He crouched and hastily untied one of the pouches attached to his belt and pulled out its contents.
Relief flooded through him. The handkerchief Roisin had given him in Sgur Castle, and the portrait she’d drawn of him the other day, were still safe. Only when he’d replaced them did it occur to him to check that his stash of coins was still intact.
Nothing appeared to be missing. If anyone had rifled through his belongings, they would surely have taken this small fortune. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that while he had been utterly exposed, danger had lurked.
Goddamn it. He raked his fingers through his wet hair and silently cursed at his carelessness.
From the moment the earl had sent him into exile, he’d kept his wits about him.
It was the only way to survive. But this wasn’t the first time his judgment had failed him since he’d brought Roisin to the camp.
What had he been thinking, to stay underwater for so long?
It was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.
He was only thankful his suspicions appeared to be unfounded.
By the time he had dressed, the camp was stirring, preparing for another day of travel. But as he made his way to his tent, from which Roisin and Grear had already emerged, a shred of unease that he hadn’t imagined the sensation of being watched wouldn’t leave him.
And it didn’t take much to assume the surveiller was Fergus MacGregor.