Chapter 10 My Honor Is My Own
My Honor Is My Own
Somebody had gotten him a bed, a proper one. Struan assumed he had Kai to thank for that, in exchange for the information he’d given.
It was all worthless, of course. In truth, there was little Struan could contribute. He’d been away for too long to know what his father’s current plans were.
The bed was hardly sumptuous. It was a stiff, rusted metal frame that squealed when he turned over, and the ropes holding up the mattress groaned as though they were going to snap at any moment.
Still, it was better than a blanket and some straw.
Gingerly, Struan shifted onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He’d been given another blanket and a thin pillow, and the bed felt like paradise. Lying still and staring directly above himself, he could almost imagine that he wasn’t in a cell at all.
Then somebody pounded on the door, and he flinched.
“Up ye get, Dickson scum!” a male voice shouted. “Ye are to go to the training fields this morning. Laird Kenneth wants ye kept in shape. And there’ll be no detours to the bloody washroom to prance around with soap and lavender, I can promise ye that.”
There was a series of chuckles outside. Struan rolled his eyes. Judging by the smell of his jailors, they didn’t visit the washroom often themselves.
“I’m awake, lads,” he called back, flinging back the blanket.
It almost physically hurt to leave his bed, but he could only hope that it would be there when he got back. Unless he did something stupid or annoyed Laird or Lady Kenneth, he assumed the bed would remain.
Father would be furious, he thought, pulling his shirt over his head. Seeing me relax so thoroughly with the offer of a wee bit of luxury.
He put the thought of his father out of his head, however.
It was plain that his father wasn’t coming to save him, at least not in a hurry.
There’d be no ransom negotiations. For all he knew, Struan could have been stretched on the rack daily since he’d been taken or tortured in other, inventive ways.
No, Struan would have to rely on himself, as he always had.
He pulled on his boots just as the door was angrily thrown open, revealing the same guards who’d taken him to Kai’s study.
“Ye have wasted enough time on primping,” one of them snarled.
Struan had privately christened him Spots, since he was the young man with the most terrible face pimples Struan had ever seen. The other two were Spaniel—for his long, curly, untidy hair and hangdog face—and Chewer. Chewer always seemed to be moving his jaw, as if perpetually chewing.
Struan grinned at them all and held out his arms.
“There ye are, lads. Here I am. All ready to go. Who’s ready to train, eh?”
They scowled at him, and Spots lunged forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward.
Struan found himself being marched out onto a flat field behind the Keep.
It was still within the walls, of course, to prevent any hope of escape.
There was a long section of hardpacked earth where people could run and jog, as well as training posts and dummies for spear throwing, swordplay, knife throwing, arrow practice, and more.
There were patches of earth that would doubtless be used for wrestling or hand-to-hand combat.
Of course, the training ground was empty now. Struan would have expected no less.
“What’s he to do out here?” he overheard Spaniel whispering to Spots. “Just run around? Do we have to fight him?”
“Not likely,” Spots snorted. “I don’t much care what he does, so long as he keeps himself entertained. I don’t think that Laird Kenneth cares, either.”
Movement caught Struan’s eye, and he paused, squinting.
Over on the running track, a small figure was sprinting up and down, a white shirt billowing around him. No, not him. It was a woman, and it only took him an instant to figure out who.
Una.
His chest tightened, and no matter how firmly Struan tried to tell himself it was because he was looking forward to being able to run properly for the first time in weeks.
“What’s she doing out here?” Chewer whispered. “I thought it was meant to be just us.”
“Aye, well, she’s the Laird’s sister, so she does what she wants. Or she thinks she does,” Spots snorted. “Not a bad-looking lass, though, eh?”
“Those clothes do nothing for her,” Spaniel snorted. “Ye can hardly see her paps in that shirt. What’s wrong with a proper gown, with a nice tight wee bodice, eh?”
There was a chorus of chuckles at that.
“I bet I could run faster than her,” Spots whispered, and now there was a nasty undertone in his voice, spiced with something dark. “It would be a real treat to catch her, if ye know what I mean.”
Struan spun around, towering over the three men.
“Oh, aye?” he hissed, his voice harsh. “Do ye think ye could run faster than me, lad? What’ll happen when I catch ye?”
Spots shrank back, his jaw hanging slackly open. It gave Struan a grim satisfaction to see fear creep over his face.
I could snap his neck before he even reached for his sword.
“Struan!”
Una’s voice echoed across the field. They all glanced her way, and she broke into a jog, heading towards them. She hadn’t guessed that anything was wrong, judging by the lack of urgency in her stride.
Struan turned back to Spots, leaning over him. The younger man gave a squeak of alarm, eyes widening.
“Best be careful how ye speak of women, lad,” Struan whispered. “Ye never know who might be listening.”
Spots swallowed thickly and took the opportunity to back away, glancing over at his friends for support.
Una reached them, breathless and flushed from her run. She glanced around at them, something like wariness on her face.
“Struan, I thought we could run together. Men, ye stay over here and keep an eye out.”
Spots had been cowed into silence, but Spaniel seemed keen to speak up.
“We must stay by his side. Those were the orders from Laird Kenneth,” he said, emphasizing the name.
Una lifted her eyebrows. “My brother, ye mean? Lad, I’m sure it galls ye to listen to a stranger, but…”
“I’ll not take orders from a woman!” Spots piped up, having regained his confidence. “Least of all from a—”
He never had time to finish his sentence. Struan seized him by the neck, hauling him close.
“Be very careful what ye say next, lad,” he whispered.
Spots’ eyes bulged with terror, and his face began to turn blue.
“Ye think that parading around with a wee sword in a Keep makes ye a soldier? No, lad. It requires something more than that. Ye haven’t felt fear yet, not truly. I can change that for ye.”
He was dimly aware of shouting and the metallic scrape of a sword in its sheath. One of the soldiers—Spaniel, he thought—tugged at his arm in a blind panic.
Then Una’s hand landed on his shoulder, and her touch resonated through him like a flare of heat.
“Enough,” she snapped. “Let him go, Struan.”
Struan obeyed. Spots staggered back, coughing and clutching his throat.
“Ye three, inside,” Una commanded, her voice grim. “There’ll be consequences for disobeying. Tell my brother that another three men must be selected to guard Struan. Say any more or any less than that, and I’ll see to it that he knows how ye spoke to me.”
The men paled, exchanged panicked glances, and set off at a run towards the Keep. Struan watched them go and chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.
“Scurrying off like three frightened kittens,” he muttered.
Una rounded on him, her face blazing. “What are ye doing, fool? If they’d been better soldiers or quicker thinkers, one of them might have struck yer head from yer shoulders before I could intervene.”
He gave a surprised laugh. “Turning on me, eh? I was only defending yer honor. If ye had heard what they said before…”
“My honor is my own,” Una snapped. “And if ye think I haven’t had men say terrible things about me before, either to my face or behind my back, ye are wrong. What made ye think ye had the right to defend me? Eh?”
Struan found himself stumbling over his words. “Well, I… We…”
Her face hardened. “Because ye kissed me, is that it? Believe me, man, I was too shocked to push ye away earlier, and that’s all there is to it. Ye had best stop thinking about that kiss, for both of our sakes.”
Struan bit the inside corner of his mouth to stop from grinning. Her words were sharp and brusque, but her face was red and getting redder by the moment.
She’s blushing, he thought, fighting to keep his face straight. She’s so sweet.
That thought took him by surprise. Had anybody ever thought that Una Alcorn was sweet? He doubted it.
“Forget the kiss all ye like,” he responded coolly, “but ye won’t taste sweeter lips than mine, love.”
She stared up at him, utterly perplexed.
“I don’t know whether to stab ye or laugh at ye,” she said at last, shaking her head. “Come. We’re meant to be running. Let’s run. Ye don’t have long before they lock ye up again.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and began to run away. Struan caught up with her quickly.
“Here is my proposal,” he said, trying and failing to catch her eye. “There is something strange between us, aye? Ye claim to hate me, and I’m sure that in some way ye do. The tension… is a lot, aye?”
“What tension?”
“Don’t tell me that ye were frozen in fear and shock when I kissed ye,” he shot back. “A warrior like ye? Nah. Ye could have killed me a dozen times, or at least made my life harder. But ye didn’t. Why not?”
She increased her pace. “Because I—”
“Because ye promised the Abbess, aye, aye, I know. Because ye promised my sister. Maybe that’s part of it. But I’ve seen ye looking at me, Una Alcorn.”
She skidded to a halt, and Struan accidentally loped on for a stride or two before he managed to stop himself.
“Don’t speak like that,” she hissed, waving a finger in his face. “I never—”
He strode up to her, coming almost nose to nose. Her eyes widened, pupils blowing darkly.
“I kissed ye,” he murmured softly. “And ye let me. That says something about us both, doesn’t it?”
She stared up at him, her breath coming hard. Then she clenched her jaw and neatly stepped past him, breaking into a run again. He followed her.
“I’m a man living on borrowed time, ye see,” Struan continued. “This could be my final night on earth. Or tomorrow, or the day after. We should look straight at our feelings and work out where they’re going to lead us, dinnae ye think?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“Come on, Una,” he whispered, his voice dropping. “Were ye never curious?”
She didn’t bother to ask about what, so he pressed on. There was no going back now, after all.
“And as for ye,” he continued, speeding up so that he could get in front of her, neatly jogging backwards to look her in the eye.
“A clever, active woman like ye must be bored out of her mind here. Ye have to fight to be seen, to be obeyed. Think of it, all that energy burning inside ye, with nowhere to go. Ye have to fight to get yer own brother and sister-in-law to see ye as anything other than a victim.”
“Fortunately, I like fighting.” she snapped.
Struan grinned. “That I believe. But another thing I know for sure is that ye, lassie, are no victim.”
“The answer to whatever ye are asking—and I am deliberately not thinking too hard about what ye are asking—is no.”
There was weight in her voice. Struan nodded, pursing his lips, and turned to face forward again. For a moment, he simply ran alongside her, easily matching her pace. He sensed her glancing up at him.
She’s worried that she’s offended me, Struan thought. And then she’s angry at herself for caring whether I’m offended.
He drew in a breath.
“I spoke to yer brother last night.”
She glanced sharply up at him. “What? Why?”
“He has questions. Questions about my father, about the Dickson warriors…” Struan trailed off, shaking his head. “I answered them all. Ye can ask him if ye don’t believe me.”
He could feel Una’s gaze on him but fought to keep his eyes straight ahead.
“Really?” she whispered, her voice suddenly soft. “Ye told him the truth.”
A muscle jumped in Struan’s cheek. “I was useful, Una. Just like ye said I should be.”
She let out a long, slow breath.
“I’m glad,” she said at last, turning her gaze forward as well. “I’m glad, Struan. Thank ye.”
They ran on in silence.