Chapter 12
“D
o not lean on me so hard!” Pelna grunted. “Ye are far too heavy, and I will tumble beneath the bulk of ye!”
He looked at her with a vaguely offended expression. “Here now! Ye make it sound as though I am some sort of roly-poly fellow! That bulk ye speak of is all muscle, I’ll have ye ken!”
“I do not doubt it,” she groaned through gritted teeth, helping him toward the door one agonizing inch at a time, “but muscle or fat, weight is still weight, and yers is considerable! Now fer heaven’s sake, do try tae ease up a bit before we both tumble tae the floor in a heap!”
“Would that truly be such a bad thing?” He gave her a sly wink.
“Enough of yer empty flattery! I’ve told ye, I have no need of it!”
“Would ye prefer we go back to fightin’ with each other, then?”
“Perhaps,” she shot back. “At least that would be honest. Yer trickery will not work on me, Gareth. I can see through it easily.”
Gareth fell silent for several moments and did his best not to put as much of his weight upon her, which was not easy since the pain in his chest was now shooting down the entire left side of his body, making walking horribly difficult—and breathing as well, for that matter.
Had he been trying to get her to drop her guard with him through sweet words? Had he had some ulterior motive for treating her differently than he had before?
Her theory that his ultimate goal was to somehow make her into his puppet and rule over the Wallace clan from afar had been a farfetched one though he hadn’t been entirely joking when he said he wished he had thought of such a thing first. If anything, it had made him all the more certain that when the time came for both of them to rule over their respective clans, she would be a cunning and dangerous enemy, able to think many moves ahead and thus outflank him.
The thought of continuing a war against her people and trying to match wits with her was not a particularly encouraging one for him and made him wonder once more whether he would be suited to lead his people at all when his turn arrived.
Those self-doubts were never especially comforting to him when they arrived—and no matter how long they were away, their return was always inevitable, like a flock of swallows flying back to their point of origin.
But no, there was far more to his winks and comments than that. More, perhaps, than he was even willing to admit to himself.
He was fascinated by her.
He’d never made much time for chasing lasses in his life; his father had always been strict about how Gareth spent his days, insisting that he remained by the laird’s side constantly to learn all he could about how to properly rule over a clan.
The few times when some girl had caught Gareth’s eye and he’d tried to woo her, Laird Fredric had chastised him sternly, saying there was no use in it since Gareth would someday be betrothed to a noblewoman whose clan could benefit theirs in resources or military support.
And he’d certainly never given any thought to Pelna as anything other than the daughter of an enemy and, therefore, an enemy herself.
On those few occasions when the topic of Pelna had come up in conversations regarding the Wallaces, Gareth had continued to picture that little girl toddling around and giggling senselessly, as she had been the last time he’d seen her.
He’d been unprepared for her incredible beauty, not to mention her wit and ferocity. Now that he was face-to-face with her after so many years and found himself in such close quarters with her, he found himself genuinely intrigued and enchanted by her.
Most women, in his experience, would have run screaming once some assassin started firing arrows in their direction.
Her response? To stand and fight. Indeed, in doing so, she may well have saved his life…not that he wasn’t still entertaining the possibility that she might have been the target rather than him.
Gareth chose to venture this opinion aloud once more, and she scoffed. “Why would I be the target of such an attack?”
“Why would I?” he countered. “We are within my clan’s territory. Who would choose tae shoot at me unless perhaps it was a Wallace or Sinclair who’d crossed over the border tae undo me?”
“It was not a Wallace, I can assure ye of that,” she told him firmly.
“Oh nay?” he challenged. “Ye were skeptical when I said I could speak for all of my people in sayin’ the McDaughs did not kill Bran.
Why should I not be equally skeptical of yer claim tae ken the minds of all yer clansmen?
Besides, I don’t have a natural-born assassin like Stefan in my family.
He could have stealthily made his way here in an attempt tae murder me covertly. ”
“That’s absolute balderdash,” she retorted.
“If it were Stefan, he wouldn’t have been launchin’ arrows carelessly in my direction during a heavy storm while trying tae kill ye.
In fact, he wouldn’t have been firin’ arrows during a storm at all.
He may not have the intellect of a leader, but he does have the cunnin’ sensibilities of an effective killer.
He’d find a way tae sneak up on ye and slit yer throat in the dark. ”
“What a thoroughly comfortin’ thought.” Gareth rubbed his neck uncomfortably.
“Aye, isn’t it?” she replied with a sly smile.
That was the other thing about her that had begun to grow on him significantly; she had a rather unusual sense of humor, the sort that most proper ladies would have eschewed in favor of addle-brained small talk. She amused him greatly, and he admired that about her.
By now they were halfway to the barn and had to raise their voices to make themselves heard over the sounds of the rain and the thunder.
The storm was still raging fiercely, and Gareth hated to think of the difficulty they might have while riding for the border.
There were alternate roads they could take to avoid the fallen tree that had impeded Pelna’s progress, certainly, but there was also a strong chance that those paths might be washed out entirely.
They would simply have to find out the hard way, it seemed.
As they approached the barn and Gareth had a chance to peer inside, he frowned.
“Where is my horse? Why do I only see yers?”
“Yer horse ran off during our attack,” she informed him. “We shall both have tae use mine. Which is probably just as well since, in yer current condition, I highly doubt whether ye would be in any position tae manage a horse yerself.”
He continued to stare at the lone horse, crestfallen. “I liked that horse, rather a lot. I do hope she managed tae find her way home again. I’d hate to think of her slippin’ and breakin’ a leg in all this mud.”
Pelna scoffed. “Imagine that. Ye’ve led men into battle tae kill countless Wallaces, yet ye mourn fer the loss of some silly horse.”
“She was not silly!” he replied a trifle defensively.
“She was the finest steed I ever had the pleasure of ridin’, and if she does not make her way back tae the stables at the keep, I shall miss her tremendously.
Besides, how can ye condemn me fer leadin’ my soldiers tae fight against yers in a time of war?
Do ye think I have enjoyed killin’ yer people?
Or the Sinclairs, fer that matter? However, we were not the ones who started this damned conflict. ”
At that, Pelna let go of him suddenly, causing him to fall on his backside in the deep mud.
“How can ye say that?” she demanded. “We never did anything tae ye!”
“Yer people murdered my brother, Alex!” he insisted, looking up at her with raindrops falling on his face and eyelids. He blinked against them but still remained firm. “He was discovered slain near the border between our lands and yers!”
“As my father told yers then, I shall tell ye now, that we had nothing tae do with it,” Pelna shot back.
“How would ye even ken? Ye were nothing but a bairn!”
“I’ll tell ye what I ken,” she retorted angrily.
“There was no proof of any kind that any Wallace was involved in such a thing, nae like the tartan we found in the hand of old Bran. Both of our clans had already been havin’ skirmishes with the Sinclairs!
We should have been fightin’ against them side by side, but instead, yer father chose tae have us all fightin’ a war on two fronts.
And why? Because he preferred the idea of takin’ what was ours tae the notion of makin’ peace with us! ”
He stared up at her incredulously. “Ye cannot seriously be accusin’ my father of inventin’ a reason tae go tae war with the Wallaces? Of…of usin’ my little brother’s death as an excuse fer such a thing?”
She stopped, closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths as though she was attempting to calm herself.
“As I said before, such talk will get us nowhere, especially as we sit out here in the rain like this. Come, let us get ye out of the mud and onto the horse.”
Pelna extended a hand to him, and he took it, pulling himself off the ground with immense difficulty.
At one point, she overbalanced and he staggered forward.
She took hold of him again as he started to fall, righting him, and as she did, their arms were around each other, their faces mere inches apart.
He was seized with the most damnable urge to kiss her right then and there, despite the fact that they had been arguing mere moments before.
But he knew that such a gesture would not be taken particularly well, just as he knew that delaying any further was unwise.
For all they knew, the archer was still crouched out there in the rain somewhere, aiming his next shaft at them.
Gareth limped over to the horse with Pelna’s help and slowly dragged himself up into the saddle.
Pelna nimbly hopped up next, sitting in front of him.
The closeness of her, the fresh and enticing smell of the rain on her hair and skin, was intoxicating, and as he put his arms around her to steady himself, it took all of his self-control not to hold her more tightly than he needed to just so he could feel her body against his.
“Now then,” she said, “I trust ye ken a path tae the border?”
“I do, aye,” he told her. “Worry nae, I shall guide ye.”
And with that, they set off, the horse’s hooves flinging up mud each time they struck the ground.