Chapter nine
I studied the landscape as we rode in silence, trying to decide whether I could trust James. Irma had said north was the wrong direction to the Dark Woods, but James had insisted there were other ways to get there and that he was taking us the safest route.
Still… The land didn’t feel as I expected it to.
The path sloped steadily beneath us, rising more often than it fell, carrying us deeper into the hills’ folds rather than down toward them.
I had thought we would eventually descend toward lower ground, where the air grew sharper with the scent of salt, but the breeze that brushed my face held only the damp chill of moss and peat.
I lifted my gaze to the horizon, or what little I could see of it through the twisting oaks.
The sun lingered behind us, and I knew that if we rode true toward Skye, it ought to fall more to our left than before.
I frowned faintly. Perhaps the path curved.
These Highland trails twisted like old roots, doubling back on themselves in ways that made a body lose all sense of direction.
That must be it. Even so, I found myself listening for the sea, but heard no distant sound of waves crashing, no crying gulls circling overhead.
Of course, we had only just started the day’s journey.
The sea could still be far away. All I heard was the whir in my head, the soft rustle of leaves, and the steady clop of hooves against the earth.
A burn crossed our path then, its waters slipping darkly over stone.
I watched the current for a moment longer than necessary as we rode through it.
It flowed away from us, eastward, I thought, though I could not be certain.
My da’s voice echoed faintly in my memory, chiding me for never learning my directions as I ought.
What if ye must find yer way someday, lass?
By the gods, he’d been wise. A sharp pang of longing slashed through me. I yearned to see my family once again. I shook off thoughts of what might be to focus on what was, and with a sigh, I shifted in the saddle, wincing at the pain.
I instantly felt James’s gaze on me. How was it that I could feel when he looked at me?
I’d never experienced such a thing with a man, not even with Alec.
But I could somehow sense James, and as if he sensed I was thinking of him, he said, “We will stop to eat a noon meal, take a rest, and see to yer wounds.”
I drew a breath to protest, and he said, “Do nae waste yer efforts. I will nae change my mind.”
“Fine,” I muttered, suspecting that if I argued, he would stop longer than he thought necessary just to prove a point.
In truth, he was right. I did need to put salve on my wounds and give my arse and inner thighs a break, though, with the special padding James had fashioned on my saddle to protect my arse and thighs, I was in much better shape than I would have been otherwise.
Those thoughts reminded me I’d not thanked him for his consideration today or his care last night.
“Thank ye for fashioning a cushion on the saddle for me and for last night,” I said, trying and failing miserably to push down the memory of his hands on my body.
“’Tis the least I could do, given my idiocy caused yer wounds.”
“I was the one who hid the truth of my pain from ye,” I reminded him.
No man who felt this much guilt and had tended my wounds so gently would lie to me.
I just could not reconcile that. James was honorable.
I’d fallen asleep, naked except for my linen cloth and the coverlet, in his arms. I recalled, albeit groggily, his holding me, offering soothing words, and pressing the gentlest kiss to my head.
It was one of the reasons I’d fled the room this morning.
I’d needed some distance from him, and the desire he had awakened within me until I decided what to do about it, if anything.
We fell back into companionable silence, and I found myself surreptitiously studying James instead of the landscape. He rode with quiet certainty, his posture easy yet deliberate, as though he knew this route well. His steadiness soothed me more than the land unsettled me.
“Yer knowledge of the healing arts is impressive for someone so young,” James suddenly said, breaking the silence.
“Is it?” I asked cautiously. I’d lived long enough with this curse to be wary of statements like this.
“Aye,” he said. “I’ve dealt with many a healer, but nae ever any as knowledgeable as ye are at yer age. How many summers did ye say ye are?”
“I did nae say,” I replied, hoping the trickle of fear I felt did not show in my words.
“So elusive,” he replied. “How many summers are ye?”
“What was yer secret mission for the king?” I shot back.
“I could tell ye,” he said, “but then I’d have to kill ye.”
I looked sharply at him and found him grinning at me. My heart skipped a beat at how devastatingly handsome his smile was. He looked like a young lad on the verge of a great deal of trouble, except for the lines of age that crinkled around his eyes. “How old are ye?” I blurted.
“Forty-two summers,” he answered without hesitation.
He was not much older than me. The truth of it stole my breath. “Why have ye nae ever married?”
“What makes ye think I’ve nae ever wed?” he asked.
Heat blossomed on my cheeks. “Oh, I, I’m sorry, I just—”
“I’m poking at ye, lass. Ye’re right.”
“So,” I said, “Do ye nae want a wife, a family?”
A silence so long stretched between us, I feared I’d asked too personal a question. “I’m sorry. I should nae have pried.”
“Nay. ’Tis fine. ’Tis just that I have nae ever spoken of such things. I do nae have my own stronghold, for one.”
I frowned. “What does that have to do with taking a wife?” I asked, thinking of all the clansmen who lived and served on my da’s land, who didn’t have their own strongholds but most definitely had wives, and of all the Summer Walkers who didn’t even have a proper cottage to offer a woman but had wives.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced down. I suspected it embarrassed him to talk of such personal things. “I’m a bastard.”
I felt my frown deepen. Was that supposed to be an explanation? “I do nae follow,” I said.
“I do nae have a name to offer a woman, only that which I took by the charity of my laird and best friend.”
“I still do nae understand.”
“I will have something of my own to give to a wife and future children before I take a wife.’
I thought I understood now. James believed he was unworthy to take a wife until he could provide his own stronghold, and given that he was a bastard, simply being the right-hand man of a great laird would not give him that. “I ken many women who are wed to men who do nae have strongholds.”
“Those men have families of their own,” he said, “and last names that are truly theirs.”
I could tell from his now terse tone that arguing would be futile. He’d made up his mind, so I said, “I assume ye have a plan to secure a stronghold.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Aye,” he replied. Before I could ask anything else, he added, “A man without land belongs nowhere. I want land of my own. I want to belong.”
I understood the longing for something so deeply that whether it was reasonable or not, whether it would truly fill the hole inside you, did not matter, because you could see nothing but getting what you desired.
I’d been that way about Alec. I swallowed, feeling a closeness to James that felt dangerous if I let it go too deep.
I would be saying goodbye to this man, no matter what, and I could not forget that. “I imagine yer laird feels ye belong.”
“Aye.” He smiled faintly. “I was raised alongside him, more like a brother than a bastard. But his feelings do nae change how I feel. Enough about me,” he said. “Tell me, how serious an injury can ye treat?”
I could have rebuffed his attempt to turn my focus away from him, but I understood.
And he had, after all, answered questions about himself with great honesty.
I could answer a few of his questions if they were not leading to the truth about me.
“Serious enough that I’ve been called unnatural,” I said, truthfully.
“Unnatural?”
“Aye,” I replied. “I once brought a woman back from death.”
He looked skeptical. “How?” he demanded.
“She had taken a lot of water into her lungs, and I have learned over the years that this can make people stop breathing. If ye can force air back into their lungs, they will often spit out the water and breathe on their own once more.”
“Ye speak as if ye have seen a thousand summers.”
“It feels like it,” I said, wishing for one breath I could tell him the truth and share the burden I carried so that it would feel lighter.
“We’ll stop here,” James said, sweeping a hand forward.
I followed his gesture and drew in a breath.
I had been so engrossed in conversation that I had not even noticed the woods around me were changing.
The land opened ahead of us, the trees giving way more abruptly than before, as though we had crossed an unseen boundary.
A river cut through the earth, its surface flashing in the midday light, moving faster than I would have expected for a stream of its size.
The air here felt different. It was cooler and sharper, carrying the clean scent of water over stone. The breeze moved more freely, no longer caught and stilled by the close press of trees. Had it always been so stifled before? I could not recall.
As we approached and dismounted, James took the reins of my horse. “I’ll take care of the horses. Ye tend to yer needs, and if ye need my aid for yer wounds—”
“I will nae,” I assured him, fighting the memory of his sure, strong hands on my body.
It was one thing to consider bedding him.
That was lust. It was quite another to invite his hands to care for me and aid me.
That was connection. That was trust. That was letting someone in, and the thought of growing close to James, possibly falling in love with him, only to lose him to death if my curse still burdened me, was more than I cared to bear.
I didn’t wait for his reply; I started toward the river.
The ground softened beneath my boots with each step, and the steady rush of water filled my ears, louder than the wind, louder than my thoughts.
A faint rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. I glanced up. Clouds had begun to gather where the sky had been clear. I crouched at the river’s edge and dipped my fingers into the water. It was colder than I expected, stinging my skin.
And then I stilled. The current was wrong.
No, no, that could not be. I scrambled to my knees, pressing my palms into the damp earth, and leaned toward the water, watching it more closely.
I traced the way it slid past the stones, pulling at leaves and bits of debris.
It was not simply moving. It was pulling things along, drawing everything with it in a single, unwavering direction.
Gooseflesh peppered my arms, and my scalp began to tingle.
I knew this direction, or I thought I did.
Knots tangled in my chest, and I lifted my gaze, following the river’s course, then turned slightly to align it with the hills behind us and the path we had taken.
The pieces did not fit as I had thought they should.
Memories of my da’s lessons came to me once more.
Ye must ken the land, lass… or it will fool ye.
Lightning split the sky, sharp and sudden, followed by a crack of thunder that echoed through the hills. Cool drops pelted my arms.
“Hurry up!” James called.
I did not answer at once.
I remained crouched there, watching the water for a moment longer, the unease inside me nearly bursting. This man was lying to me, and I had to escape him.