Chapter Eighteen
Hugh led the horses from the cave, with Roisin by his side. When she smiled at him, his heart twisted in his chest. It took all his willpower not to wrap her in his arms and kiss her. Yet if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.
That was a lie. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. Hadn’t he just proven that when it came to Roisin, all his grand ideals of honor fled?
Renewed lust, streaked with despair, burned through his veins as they made their way to the next cave where Grear was emerging with Ecne at her heels. Aye, he’d proven it all right. Proven he’d been unable to resist the temptation of making Roisin his, even though they had no future together.
He was despicable. But, even knowing that, he didn’t regret what had happened in the cave. He could only hope, with everything he was, that Roisin never would, either.
As she greeted Grear, before crouching to give her wee dog a cuddle, a dark possibility crawled through his mind like a poisoned fog.
What if he delayed sending the earl another message? He and Roisin could spend more time together until the inevitable end when she would return to her kin.
No. He couldn’t do that to her.
But the shining prospect of a few weeks together burned in his brain, a forbidden oasis in a future that otherwise stretched like a bleak panorama of unremitting duty without escape.
She would never know he’d failed to do everything within his power to secure her release. So far, he had. And he hadn’t heard back from the earl. The chances of receiving a reply within the next week or so were, at best, remote.
But it was always possible.
He exhaled a long breath and rubbed Fhortan’s neck, but the familiar gesture didn’t afford him any comfort.
Disgust curled through him, but he couldn’t push the despicable idea aside.
Every day that passed made the possibility of a future with her less likely.
But if he could keep her by his side for just a little longer, was that really too much to ask?
Inevitably, his gaze shifted to Roisin, where she stood arm-in-arm with Grear. Christ, what was he thinking? Had he lost all the honor he had once possessed since joining the rebel MacGregors?
He didn’t want to face that prospect. And yet still his dark design of delaying her release clawed relentlessly in the back of his mind, a toxic thorn he could not shift.
He was torn from his reverie by the approach of Darragh and instantly his senses went on alert. It couldn’t be good news for the chieftain to seek him out with such purpose.
“We’ll stay here for the night,” Darragh said. Hugh gave a brusque nod. It made sense. They could use the caves as additional shelter, although he couldn’t fathom why Darragh had made the effort to tell him personally.
“While they set up camp,” Darragh indicated the rest of the MacGregors with a glance over his shoulder, “we’ll go to the local town.”
Hugh managed to hide his surprise. Although he’d decided not to send the earl another missive just yet, he still needed to go to the town to see if there was a message waiting for him, but he’d expected he would need to persuade Darragh to let him go.
The last thing he’d anticipated was being invited to join the chieftain without any preamble.
He sensed a trap and instantly thought of Roisin. Goddamn it. What had raised Darragh’s suspicions?
“Don’t worry about the lass.” There was no mistaking the thread of dry amusement in the older man’s tone and Hugh silently cursed.
Not simply because of Darragh’s disrespect whenever he spoke of Roisin.
But the fact Darragh apparently knew how she was always at the forefront of his mind.
“She’ll come to no harm here. We need to leave now.
’Tis a fair trek to the town, or so Fergus tells me. ”
With that, he swung about and since he didn’t have much choice, Hugh followed. As he passed by Roisin, she sent him a sweet smile, and a sharp pain twisted low in his gut at how she trusted him to do the right thing.
And he would. All he wanted was the chance of a few more weeks with her. As for Darragh, whatever trick he might be planning, Hugh would be ready for him.
“We’ll take one of the horses to sell.” Darragh strode over to where the horses they’d claimed from Roisin’s men were being led from one of the larger caves ahead. “Fergus, are ye ready?”
Fergus MacGregor appeared in the mouth of the cave. “Aye.”
The chances that he was being led into a trap magnified. But why now? What had changed Darragh’s mind about him? Christ, did Fergus recognize him from before he had become a redshank?
It was a possibility he’d always known might happen, from the day he’d set foot in Eire. The Campbells and MacGregors had engaged in several skirmishes during the last five years, and he’d fought alongside both William and Alasdair in a few of them for the earl.
But he didn’t recognize Fergus. He could only hope he was wrong and Darragh had no ulterior purpose for the invitation to accompany him to the town.
They set off, Fergus leading since he apparently knew the way. They skirted woodlands, where birdsong filled the air, and despite Hugh keeping a sharp eye on the two men, he didn’t notice any stealthy glances between them. Maybe he was being overcautious but that was better than being ambushed.
They’d been riding for a good two hours when Fergus pulled to a halt. “Not far now,” he said. “I’ll go first.”
Darragh gave a sharp nod and Fergus rode ahead, disappearing around a bend in the path. Hugh and Darragh followed, and the town spread across the glen before them. As they approached the gates, the older man threw him a glance.
“I’ll go sell the horse and get the provisions. Fergus says there’s a tavern by the mercat cross. We’ll meet there when our business is done.”
This was verging on the surreal. Why the hell had Darragh brought him along when it seemed the chieftain had no use for him?
“What do ye want me to do?”
Darragh shrugged. “Go buy yer lass some pretty ribbons for her hair.”
What?
Heat scorched through him. God’s bones, surely Darragh hadn’t guessed what had occurred between Roisin and himself in the cave? To be sure, it had been reckless. But no one would have ventured out of their shelter during that downpour merely to spy on him.
No. It was true Roisin’s reputation may have been harmed by the fact they’d been alone in the cave, but no one could prove anything had happened. He’d cut out his tongue, aye, and anyone else’s before allowing a slanderous word against her to be uttered.
“Lady Roisin is not my lass.” His tone was barely civil, but he couldn’t help that. It was taking all his willpower not to punch the smug look from the older man’s face.
“’Tis nothing to me if she is or if she isn’t. But a lass likes to know she’s appreciated. Buy her something bonny and mark my words, she’ll make yer life far easier.”
The suspicion that, somehow, Darragh knew Hugh had taken advantage of Roisin hammered through his head. It was one thing for the entire camp to guess how he felt about her. It was something else entirely for anyone to even obliquely denigrate her honor.
“Lady Roisin is under my protection. That’s all. There’s no need to buy her trinkets. She knows it’s my intention to return her to her kin as soon as possible.”
“Oh, aye, and I can see how hard ye’re working on that, Hugh. Do whatever ye want with her, but we’ll still be demanding a ransom for her return. Unless ye decide to keep her indefinitely in which case on yer head be it.”
With that, Darragh urged his horse forward and Hugh was left glaring at his back. He’d promised Roisin she wouldn’t be used as a hostage, but Darragh appeared intent on doing so. Well, let him. In the end it made no difference. Roisin would return to her kin and that would be the end of it.
But he wasn’t going to think about that.
Not until he had no choice. He waited until Darragh had disappeared through the town gates before he made his own way there and dismounted.
Even though he wasn’t sending the earl an update, he still needed to check if the earl’s network had delivered anything to this town.
He strolled around the busy market, keeping a sharp lookout for both Darragh and Fergus, although it was unlikely they’d try to assassinate him in the town, when they could have attacked him at any time during the journey here.
He still couldn’t work out why Darragh had invited him.
They hadn’t even interrogated him during the ride. What game was the other man playing?
After exploring the town and going into a few likely places where a message might have been waiting for him, he hitched his horse outside the blacksmith’s and stepped inside.
The heat from the forge filled the workshop and he cast a glance over the range of tools for sale as the blacksmith eyed him from the other side of his anvil.
“Ye looking for something?” The blacksmith wiped his brow with the back of his wrist.
“Browsing.” Then he shared one of the many coded phrases used in the earl’s extensive network. “’Tis a grand anvil ye have there, and no mistake.”
It was a banal remark, meant to be forgettable if overheard by a passerby, or directed at anyone not in the know. A comment that was both justifiable in context but also something that no one would, in fact, actually utter.
The blacksmith glanced at his anvil. Clearly, he considered Hugh to be a half-wit, and he prepared to leave. But then the blacksmith responded.
“Aye. They don’t make anvils like this anymore, and that’s a fact.”
Hugh nodded sagely. “Approbation to yer skilled forefathers.”
“And to the forge.”
At this point, Hugh usually passed on his message. But since he had no message to send, he inclined his head in farewell. “Until next time, go with God.”
“Hold up.” The blacksmith, after a swift glance at the door of his workshop, pulled an envelope from his belt and handed it to Hugh. “Delivered just hours ago.”