Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
T he sun hung low in the sky, bathing the path in a blazing orange glow. The thick morning clouds had parted enough to let some sunlight in in the last few hours of the day, though now that the sun was setting, it was getting colder, Kathleen had enjoyed the time in the warmth of the sun rays.
She had even gotten used to her proximity to Blaine, though she wished the man would be a little more talkative. Throughout the entire ride, they had hardly exchanged a word, which only served to heighten Kathleen’s awkwardness and reinforce the seemingly ceaseless influx of thoughts about the two of them together. In the silence, she had lost herself in her daydreams, thinking about Blaine leaning closer on the saddle, embracing her properly, pressing a tender kiss to her neck where she could already feel his breath. The mere thought was enough to ignite a fire under her skin, to make the blood in her veins feel like liquid fire, burning her up from the inside, but she hoped the only visible sign of it was the soft flush of her cheeks, which Blaine couldn’t even see from where he sat behind her.
She did her best to ignore the feeling in her core, the pressure that built there. She had ignored it before; she could ignore it again.
“Shall we rest here fer the night?” Blaine asked, pointing at a small building in the distance, tucked behind some trees, down a path that diverged from the main road. There was no light coming out through the windows—no signs of life. It seemed like an abandoned hut, but Kathleen was still reluctant to agree.
“Can we?” she asked. “It must belong tae someone.”
“Whoever owns it hasnae been there fer a long time,” said Blaine and as they approached and Kathleen could take a better look at the hut, she could only imagine he was right. The building was in bad shape, with planks of wood missing and a part of the roof threatening to cave in. It must have served as a hunting lodge sometime in the past, but now it stood there, empty and devoid of life.
Still, it was better than camping out in the woods. This way, they would at least have some protection from the elements and from any brigands who could approach .
Once they reached the hut, Kathleen headed inside, looking around in the dim light of the sunset. The place was sparsely furnished—there was no bed, not even a mattress they could use, but there was an old, rickety table covered in dust and a few chairs around it, some missing a leg. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the room and a small pile of wood rested by the fireplace, which was filled with ash.
It seemed that whoever owned this place had planned on returning but never had.
I wonder who it was. I wonder what kept them away.
With a sigh, Kathleen crouched by the stack of wood, observing it much like she would observe a puzzle. She had never lit a fire before, but she had watched other people do it, including Blaine, and it hadn’t seemed so hard to her. There was even a tin box of flint on the little shelf on the fireplace, and Kathleen reached for it—only for Blaine to suddenly appear behind her, his hand reaching for the box at the same time.
The tips of their fingers brushed for the briefest of moments. Time seemed to stretch, though, and that one moment lingered in the tingling sensation at the tip of Kathleen’s finger, in the soft gasp she drew, in the still air between them. Kathleen hadn’t even heard him approach, nor did she expect him to come so close without the constraints of sharing a single saddle—close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes and the small, silver scar right above his cupid’s bow when she turned to glance at him in surprise.
“Allow me,” Blaine said, clearing his throat as he took the tin box and stepped back before Kathleen could say a word. She felt as though she was moving through honey, the world around her turning slow and stagnant. And then, the spell was broken and she was pulled back into herself, watching as Blaine grabbed some logs and arranged them in the fireplace.
No more words were exchanged between them. Kathleen quickly stepped back, letting him work on the fire and averting her gaze. She didn’t know what to do with herself, but she didn’t want to linger around him too long either, fearful of what she would do or say if she did.
Instead, she busied herself with the table. There was nothing remarkable about it, save for how thick the layer of dust draped on its surface was. Slowly, deliberately, she dragged a finger over it, gathering some of it and watching the clean line her finger left behind.
A part of her wished she had never let Blaine follow her. It would have been so much simpler, traveling on her own without any of these concerns. But had it not been for him, she wouldn’t have made it past the first few hours, and now that Sorrel was injured, she would have never made it to Castle Stalker even if she had managed to avoid the Campbell soldiers .
There was nothing at that table or in the room to keep her attention and give her a plausible reason to appear busy, so Kathleen reached for her bag instead, where she had put the food she had purchased for her and Blaine at the market. She was not yet hungry, but it would give her something to do while Blaine lit the fire and she wouldn’t have to stand there and watch him awkwardly, desperately hoping that he would say something to break the silence or at least respond to one of her many questions.
Dusting the rest of the table with the edge of her cloak, which was already coated in mud and dirt, she placed everything she had purchased on the—more or less—clean surface. It was hardly a feast; some dried meat, a few apples and some nuts, cheese, and bannocks that had been fresh that afternoon but now seemed a little stale to her. There was no point in getting anything that needed to be cooked, though; neither she nor Blaine traveled with any utensils save for a knife.
“What’s all that?” Blaine asked, and when Kathleen turned to look at him in confusion, he was staring at the table with wide eyes. “Are ye tryin’ tae feed an army?”
Kathleen dragged her gaze back to the table. Now that she was looking at everything she had purchased, it seemed enough for several people, but none of it was proper food, nor could it be used to make a hot meal.
“Is it too much?” she asked, doubtful .
“What dae ye think?” Blaine asked, but he sounded amused rather than annoyed. With a chuckle, he stood and dusted off his knees before he walked over to the table, grabbing a piece of dried meat. “Well, we’ll have enough fer the rest o’ our travels, at least.”
Kathleen flushed red, her cheeks heating uncomfortably. She couldn’t help it; she felt foolish, a naive girl who had never left the comforts of the castle and didn’t know what Blaine knew of the real world.
Instead of admitting her embarrassment, though, she decided that the best course of action was to pretend it was Blaine who was in the wrong.
“Big as ye are, I thought ye’d want tae eat more,” she said defiantly, her chin jutting out as she stared him down.
Laying a hand over his chest, Blaine gasped, the gesture so unlike him that Kathleen couldn’t help but laugh at him.
“Are ye sayin’ I eat too much?”
“I’m only sayin’ ye’re big!” Kathleen said, gesturing wildly at his body. “Broad-shouldered an’… an’ tall an’— ”
She stopped herself before she could say something she would regret—namely, how handsome she thought he was. Still, Blaine shook his head, his hands coming to rest on his hips.
“Why are ye laughin’ at me?”
“I’m nae laughin’ at ye,” Kathleen assured him, though she couldn’t even believe her own words. “It’s just, ye’re always so serious an’ now ye’re actin’ like this!”
As if summoning it by pointing it out, a serious expression settled over Blaine’s features. Kathleen cursed herself quietly. Just when Blaine had given a sign, however small, that he was about to open up a little to her, she had inadvertently pushed him to shut her out again.
“Bein’ serious will save ye from a lot o’ trouble out here, lass,” Blaine said before he bit into the piece of dried meat, tearing a chunk off it with his teeth. “I hope ye never have tae find out just how much trouble.”
Kathleen said nothing. What was there to say to this, other than that she hoped the same? Instead, she took a small piece of cheese and nibbled on it distractedly, forcing it down even as her stomach tied itself into a knot .
For a while, she watched Blaine in silence as he ate, hovering over the table. Every time he reached for another thing to eat, though, he moved with some stiffness and his lips twisted into a wince as though he were in pain.
Kathleen hadn’t noticed before. Blaine seemed to be an expert at hiding his pain and it was only showing now that she was observing him carefully, watching his every move. It concerned her. How long had he been in pain? How long had they been traveling, putting strain on his body instead of allowing him to rest?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and Blaine glanced at her with a confused frown.
“Naethin’,” he said. “Why?”
By then, there was hardly any light coming in through the windows and the gaps all around the door. The sun was rapidly setting, plunging the room in a darkness that was only broken by the light of the fire. The flames illuminated only one side of Blaine’s face; the other was in shadow. Had Kathleen not known him as well, had they still been at the very start of their acquaintance, she would have found him frightening like this, with the shadows dancing across his face and sharpening his features.
“I can see ye’re strugglin’,” Kathleen said. “Were ye injured? ”
Blaine hesitated. “It’s naethin’.”
“It’s somethin’,” Kathleen insisted. “When did ye hurt yerself?”
“Dae ye ever let anythin’ go?” Blaine asked instead of answering her question.
“Nay,” she said with a smug smile, one she aimed to make her look as irritating as possible. “So ye may as well tell me.”
Taking in a deep, long-suffering breath, Blaine said, “I dinnae ken. It must have been when I fought the Campbell men.”
“An’ ye’ve said naethin’ all this time?” Kathleen asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Ye could have seen a healer at the village. I’m sure between us, we have plenty o’ gold tae spare!”
“I said it’s naethin’,” Blaine insisted. “It’s healin’ fine on its own.”
“Let me see.”
“Nay.”
Kathleen stared at him and he stared right back, neither of them willing to back down first. If Blaine wanted to be stubborn, though, and act like a child, Kathleen figured she could simply treat him like one. Marching over to him, she grabbed his arm just as he was about to pull back, her fingers wrapping tightly around it.
He could easily escape her grip if he so wished. He could brush her off and Kathleen would have no choice but to leave him alone, but Blaine only stood there, facing to the side but looking at her from the corner of his eye.
He looked like a cornered animal to Kathleen. It was a ridiculous notion, like imagining a lion cornered by a rabbit, and yet the strangeness of it didn’t make it any less true—only more unsettling.
Slowly, gently, as if trying not to spook him, Kathleen pushed Blaine’s tunic back to reveal a wound on his right shoulder. It was small, no bigger than her thumb, but it was clearly still fresh, with pink, jagged edges, sluggishly oozing fluid. Blaine hadn’t even bothered to dress it properly, though there was a sheen and an herbal scent to it that told Kathleen he had at least applied some paste.
Under the soft light of the fire, she saw other, older scars marring his skin. They seemed to be everywhere, in every part of his torso that she had revealed; long, thin lines with straight edges, shorter ones in irregular shapes, some which had widened with time, stretching the skin. She had never seen someone with so many. Her cousins both bore signs of their battles, scars that looked much like Blaine’s, but from what Kathleen had seen, they were nowhere near as many.
How many battles has he fought? How much pain has he felt in his life?
Before she could think better of it, she traced one of those old scars with her finger—one that ran down the length of his ribs, stopping right above his waist.
Blaine drew in a trembling breath, his skin erupting into goosebumps under the pad of Kathleen’s finger. For a moment, they looked at each other in silence, equally stunned by the boldness of her action. Before Blaine could say a thing, though, Kathleen jumped back from him, cheeks flaming and stomach tightening with something she couldn’t name—a strange, urgent desire, so intense and demanding that the source of it escaped her.
“Ye must… we must clean it,” she said, mumbling to herself as she pulled her kerchief out of her pocket and rushed to the waterskins, dampening the small cloth. When she returned to Blaine, he stood just where she had left him, so still and silent that he resembled a statue. That suited Kathleen just fine, though; she could clean the wound, put her mind at ease, and never mention any of this again as long as she lived .
With quick, methodical movements, she made sure the wound on Blaine’s shoulder was clean of fluid and blood and the residue from the ointment. She hoped he had some more of it with him, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. The silence, oppressive as it was, was better than the possibility of her voice cracking with embarrassment and desire, revealing everything she was trying to hide from him.
She was grateful for the darkness; in it, she could pretend she was calm and collected, unaffected by the feel of Blaine’s body under her hands.
The entire time she worked on the wound, Blaine said nothing nor did he move at all. He simply let her do as she pleased, muscles twitching ever so slightly with each touch she gave him, rippling invitingly under her hands. She imagined those muscles working to pull her close, to lift her, to hold her against the wall. She imagined feeling the strength of his hands on her body, surrendering to it?—
Before her thoughts could stray too far, she withdrew, wordlessly walking over to the small basin at the other end of the room to wash off her kerchief and her hands. Shame coiled in her stomach like a serpent, threatening to poison her at any moment. How could she be thinking about such things about a man she hardly knew—a man who was over a decade her senior and who, by all appearances, was only irritated by her presence ?
It would only do harm, allowing herself to be lost in such fanciful daydreams. Once they had reached Castle Stalker, Kathleen would make sure she would never be near him again.
Hardly any words had been exchanged between them since Kathleen had cleaned Blaine’s wound. Once she had finished washing her kerchief and he had finished eating, she gathered all the food that was left in her bag and then draped her cloak near the fire, settling down onto the floor to fall asleep.
But sleeping was impossible. The floor was hard and though the fire warmed her enough for her to be comfortable, the howling of the wind as it passed through the gaps in the wooden planks of the hut, the windows, and the door kept her awake. All around her, there was a cacophonous whistle that never seemed to cease and the more she tried to fight the noise and force herself to fall asleep, the more sleep evaded her.
Blaine seemed in no hurry to rest. Even with his shoulder injured, he was sitting a little farther away with his back to the wall, half-illuminated by the fire as he sharpened and oiled his blades. There were so many of them; Kathleen didn’t know where he could have stashed them all, but he kept pulling one after the other out, until he had a collection of no fewer than eight around his feet.
Why does he need all of these? How many could he possibly use?
“Are ye expectin’ an attack?” she asked. Blaine glanced at her as if surprised to hear her voice before he shrugged a shoulder.
“I wouldnae think it impossible, considerin’ how we met,” he said. “It’s better tae be prepared fer these things. If ye’re prepared, then nay matter what happens, ye ken ye did yer best.”
Kathleen didn’t know what to say to that. If there was one thing she hadn’t been when she left her home, that was prepared. She had left without considering what could happen to her, without making any proper arrangements, without even a weapon on her person. What had she expected? How could she have thought her journey would be devoid of any danger?
She was surprised her cousins had allowed her to leave in the first place. Now that she was out there, in the wilderness, she could finally understand the dangers of traveling alone, and she was certain that she would not have made it this far without Blaine, even if she hadn’t been attacked.
“Can I ask ye somethin’ else?” Kathleen said and Blaine snorted in response.
“Ye’ll ask me either way, willnae ye? ”
Kathleen didn’t even try to deny it; there was no point.
“Why have ye nae wedded?”
She didn’t know whether she should expect a response at all, but it was a question which had plagued her mind for too long. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Blaine may not have been the most socially adept person she knew, but he was a stunning man and an important member of the Farquharson Clan. Surely, he could have his pick of wives. The fact that he was still a bachelor confused her as much as it unsettled her.
What she was truly asking was, what is it about ye that makes ye an undesirable suitor?
“I never had the time tae consider creatin’ a family, I already told ye. I travel too much,” Blaine said. Kathleen didn’t know if she should believe this, though. It seemed like such a simple, generic answer that it could have easily been a lie, but she didn’t know enough about Blaine to truly know if it was. Before she could ask him to clarify, he asked, “Are ye eager tae find yer match?”
A surprised chuckle tore itself from Kathleen’s throat against her will. “Nay,” she said. “If I can have it me way, it’ll be a long, long time afore I wed. ”
“Is that so?” Blaine asked.
“I’d dae anythin’ tae avoid a marriage like Fenella’s.”
All this time, ever since she had received the invitation, Kathleen had been thinking about her own wedding and the possibility that it could happen soon—too soon for her liking. Like every other woman of her station, she would eventually have to wed for wealth and power, but she was desperate to avoid it for as long as she could. She was happy with her life; she didn’t want to be bound to a husband, her only function to bear heirs.
Blaine said nothing in response but Kathleen was used to that by then. She didn’t expect one, and so she turned around so that she was facing the flames, watching them dance in the fireplace.
Before long, Blaine joined her on the floor. He lay close to her, trying to get some of the warmth from the fire. Even though Kathleen could feel his presence, no part of him touched her. It was a strange sensation; it was almost as though she could feel him on her skin, the air between them charged with tension.
In the silence that followed, she managed to fall asleep as the howling of the wind died down. It wasn’t until later that night, when she woke next to a dying fire, that she found she wasn’t cold at all because Blaine had draped a cloak over her at some point in the night—his cloak, she realized. When she glanced at him, he had nothing but a thin, spare shirt thrown over him to keep warm, and Kathleen had half a mind to give the cloak back.
But something stopped her. The room was too quiet; the two of them were too close. The moment was so intimate that she feared the slightest disturbance would bring reality crashing down around them. And so, with one final look at Blaine, she turned back around and willed herself to sleep.