Chapter Twenty-Two
Hugh didn’t bother pitching his tent. Grimly, he built a small fire near the entrance of Roisin’s cave, concentrating on the familiar actions so his mind didn’t replay the final moments he’d spent with her.
When the fire burned to his satisfaction, he sat back on his heels and released a heavy sigh, and inevitably, Roisin invaded his thoughts.
It was too late to send a message to the earl to let him know of the change of plans, but he wasn’t concerned about that.
It would be easy enough to send one on their way back to Oban and more to the point, he wouldn’t need to send it through the spy network.
Hell, since neither of them would no longer be in the camp, Roisin herself could send a letter to Isolde to let her know what was happening.
He was certain she’d find that irony satisfying.
But there was a darker side to this turn of events, one he didn’t want to face since it was entirely selfish, yet it crawled across his mind, regardless. For if they journeyed back to Oban, he wouldn’t be saying farewell to her on the morrow.
He retreated from the fire and sat with his back against the limestone wall, and finally he could no longer hide from the humiliating spectacle he’d made of himself.
As if it weren’t bad enough that Roisin had demanded her portrait back, but far worse than that, her handkerchief had dropped to the ground.
He wasn’t certain she had seen it, and he hoped to God she hadn’t, but it didn’t ease the relentless gnaw consuming his chest. Her handkerchief was all he’d had of her for this last year and a half, and it was all he would have in his future.
If she had demanded its return, he wasn’t sure he would have complied.
He propped his elbows on his knees and dug his fingers through his hair, gripping his scalp, as though that might somehow alleviate the throb that tormented his brain.
During daylight hours, it was easier to keep the demons that lived in the darkest corners of his mind at bay.
To ignore the uncertainty of his future and the growing inevitability that he would never see his sisters or father again.
And above all, the searing knowledge that he had long ago lost any possibility of securing Roisin as his bride.
He yanked his hair, and he welcomed the pain as his bitter thoughts turned to his brother.
What the devil had Douglas done to the earl, to warrant having Hugh’s entire future ripped away without a second thought?
He had obeyed without question, for the sake of his sisters’ futures, and he would never regret that.
But God knew, he regretted being put in the position where he needed to restore his kin’s tattered reputation.
A shadow emerged and hunkered down next to him, and he forced his fingers to relax before he tore out great chunks of his own hair. His hands fell to his knees as Symon sat beside him and after several heartbeats of silence, the other man spoke.
“Do ye want to be alone?”
What he wanted was as impossible to capture as a star itself and being alone or not would never alter that.
And so he shrugged, and Symon took that as a sign to lean back against the rockface.
A part of him wanted to tell the other man of the change of plans.
Symon had, after all, already said he would follow Hugh whichever path he took.
But there was also a chance he’d tell Darragh, and Hugh didn’t want the chieftain to be made aware of it until the last moment.
On balance, leaving with Innis was a better idea. He and Roisin wouldn’t need to steal away. This way, they could do it openly and considering how few men were remaining by the chieftain’s side, it was unlikely he’d be willing to shed blood over the matter.
“Sergeant.”
“Aye.”
“I trust Darragh with my life.”
“I know that.” And that was why he wasn’t sharing his revised traveling plan with Symon.
“I don’t trust Fergus.”
Hugh grunted. Fergus was no longer a problem.
“What I’m saying,” Symon kept his voice low, “is I don’t think Lady Roisin will be safe once we reach Fergus’s camp.”
Hugh didn’t respond. Although it was interesting that Symon had reached that conclusion.
“I know ye’re hatching something. Just want ye to know I’ll have yer back. We saved Lady Roisin and Grear from the bandits, and I’m willing to save them from Fergus, if it comes to that.”
There was an odd constriction in Hugh’s throat, and he turned his head to look at the man who had been by his side from the first day they’d met. He couldn’t tell Symon the truth, but he could acknowledge what Symon was offering.
“I’ll remember that.” His voice was hoarse. Clearing it didn’t help dislodge the blockage. “Good man.”
“Christ, don’t go weeping on me now, Sergeant.” Symon grinned, and Hugh cracked a reluctant smile. “It’ll work out, ye’ll see.”
Aye, it would work out. Roisin would return to her protected life on her isle where she would never be in danger again and that would need to be enough for him.
*
Wrapped up in a blanket next to Grear on the floor of the cave, Roisin watched the shadows shift and fade across the ceiling as dawn broke. And she was still no closer to a decision.
The same doubts plagued her now as they had last night when Hugh had dropped her handkerchief.
Why would he have kept it all this time, if she meant nothing to him?
Ecne, bundled under the blanket between her and Grear, licked her nose, and she wound her arm around him, but her mind would not still, and just as it had for most of the night, it replayed all the conversations she and Hugh had ever shared.
“I always intended to return to Eigg to see ye. I wasn’t simply spinning ye a pretty line to see ye smile. But it wasn’t to be.”
He’d said that to her the day she’d given him the portrait. She had hugged that confession deep inside her heart, so sure that nothing could stand between them. How could it when he was as committed to her as she was to him?
But when she discovered he hadn’t sent her letter and, worse, had let her believe he had, everything she’d imagined and dreamed and built around him had shattered.
There could never be a future of any kind with someone she couldn’t trust. With someone who, most certainly, had forgotten about her the moment he’d left Eigg and only recalled her existence when they had met once again in the forest.
She hadn’t believed his ludicrous tale of being in contact with the earl. How could she? The earl had banished him.
Had he, though? Hugh had never told her that. She’d simply assumed it because why else would he have chosen to live as an outlaw?
She sighed and scratched Ecne behind his ear.
If Hugh had wanted to gain her favor, after she’d overheard the damning conversation between him and Darragh, all he needed to do was show her the handkerchief.
To prove he had never forgotten her, and his promises to return to her had been more than pretty lies.
But he hadn’t. And when it had dropped to the ground, he’d appeared appalled and fisted the delicate lace as though he wanted to make it vanish before she remarked upon it.
Were those the actions of a man who would say anything, do anything, to get his way?
All night the question had haunted her. And she could only think of one answer.
No, they were not.
But if that were true, it meant he hadn’t simply flung another outrageous lie in her face last night when she’d told him she was leaving with Innis. Only a man coldly determined to have his will obeyed would have cited the earl’s involvement in his schemes.
Or a man who was telling the truth.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t help ease the incessant thumping in her head.
If she accepted the truth that Hugh had always intended to return to Eigg for her, she had to accept the truth that he’d been in communication with the earl.
And if she accepted that, then she had the choice of later today arriving at the earl’s manor and doubtless within days being with her sisters or leaving with Innis and returning to Eigg.
’Twas no good. She could scarcely think straight with all the tangled threads and conflicting notions that filled her mind, and she sat up, careful not to disturb Grear, who still slept soundly.
Stealthily, she pulled on her boots and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders before she ventured outside.
No one was stirring yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they broke camp, and she wanted to get this confrontation out of the way before there was any chance of an audience.
Hugh sat next to the cave entrance, leaning against the rockface, and her heart stuttered in her chest as she caught his unblinking gaze.
“Hugh.” Her whisper sounded unnaturally loud in the still morning air. She glanced at Symon, but he appeared to be fast asleep next to Hugh, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. “May I have a word?”
If he was surprised by her request, he didn’t show it. He stood, rolling his shoulders and straightening his spine, and her mouth dried as she watched the magnificent play of his muscles beneath his white shirt.
Somehow she managed to drag her mesmerized gaze away before he noticed and moved to the other side of the cave entrance. He followed her and stood before her, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he sent every sense she possessed into freefall.
She gripped the ends of her shawl in the vain hope that that might focus her unruly thoughts. She could speculate all she liked, but there was only one way to know for sure.
“Hugh, why did ye keep my handkerchief all this time?”
An expression of unfettered alarm flashed over his face, as though she had trapped him in a field of giant thistles with no way out.
For a surreal moment, she even had the certainty he was about to swing on his heel and march back to Symon, but then he suddenly sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders as if he were about to enter a battle without a weapon.
“Ye know why. Because ye gave it to me.”
He said it almost like an accusation. But the intense glow in his eyes told another tale, one she knew so well from the stories she cherished of the fae and ancient gods, where hearts and souls entwined, and where she had always rewritten the bittersweet endings so love prevailed.
Suppose I’m wrong?
She had been wrong about so many things since Hugh had caught her in the forest. Or had she? It was so hard to fathom her own thoughts when he gazed at her so. Everything she believed she knew about him tumbled in her mind like uprooted saplings in a winter’s storm.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the camp begin to stir.
Grear emerged from the cave; Symon stood and stretched.
Her heart thundered and her pulse raced, but there was no longer any time to ponder and contemplate all the possible reasons as to why Hugh had done all that he had since the day they had met.
She needed to make a choice right now. Keeping her voice low, she put her trust in Hugh. “I’ll come with ye and rendezvous with the earl today.”