17 FIERCE #2
She found herself staring north through the trees again, as if her mentor might suddenly appear.
What if she never saw her again? What if this was how it ended?
The light was fading when she returned to where Rùn was tethered, and Dale had just lit a fire. His breathing steamed in the icy air as he fed twigs to the blaze.
Seated opposite each other, they didn’t speak for a while.
Ailsa’s lower back ached dully now, yet she did her best to ignore it.
The silence swelled, heavy and strained, broken only by the crackle of damp wood catching flame. Ailsa’s chest started to ache. The sudden quiet felt wrong after the urgency of the chase, and how near they’d come to catching up with Kayla.
“There’ll be a frost tonight,” Dale announced tersely, adding a heavier branch to the fire. They’d bedded down under the canopy of an ancient pine. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. His movements were sharper than usual, as if he were holding something in check.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Ailsa frowned. “Are you worried we won’t catch them?”
He shook his head. “We will.”
“But what if they continue to outpace us?”
“They won’t forever.”
His tone had turned even curter. Clearly, he was tiring of her fretting, but she couldn’t help it. She needed something to cling to.
“It looked like a vicious skirmish with those trows,” she said, even as her breathing grew shallow. “I hope Kayla’s all right.”
Dale eyed her, his expression veiling now. “You’re close, aren’t you?”
Ailsa’s throat tightened. “We were … once.” She looked away then. “But of late … there’s been distance between us.”
“Why’s that?”
Ailsa sighed. “I started to feel suffocated … as if our life … our craft … wasn’t enough. I wanted more.” She swallowed then. Gods, what she’d give to have her old, boring life back. “And I started to resent her for it.”
Another silence fell, and Dale made no move to break it. Eventually, Ailsa glanced his way, meeting his eye. “You were in quite a temper yesterday when you discovered our quarry had moved on from Rhu,” she said finally. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Just overtired, I guess.” He reached for the saddlebag where they’d stowed their supplies. “Best we get ourselves some woolen tunics and leggings at the next village … and some blankets … or the cold will get us.”
Ailsa’s frown deepened. He was deflecting. “Overtired? What kind of answer is that?”
He huffed an annoyed sigh. “Just leave it, Ailsa.”
She leaned forward and dug at the fire with a stick, sending sparks spraying skyward. The flare of heat stung her eyes, but she welcomed it, anything to distract her from the hollow ache in her chest. “I don’t understand why you’re so cagey.”
His tawny eyes narrowed. “I’m not. I’ve just got business elsewhere … I need to get this job done.”
The words landed heavily in the darkness.
A job.
Of course, that was all this was to him.
Ailsa looked back into the fire so he didn’t see the disappointment cross her face.
She shouldn’t have expected anything else. The man was a mercenary, after all.
Shifting position, she winced.
Her lower back throbbed. She reached behind her and attempted to rub at the spot with her fingers. However, she couldn’t get the pressure right.
“My mother suffered from such pains every moon,” Dale said then. “My father used to massage her back.”
Ailsa grunted as she shifted position. “Lucky woman.”
“Here.” He rose smoothly from his side of the fire. “I’ll help.”
She stiffened. “No … it’s all right. I don’t—”
“Fear not … it’s just a massage. My hands won’t wander.”
Warmth rolled over her, even as her chin lifted. “I’m not afraid.”
He gave a soft huff of amusement as he lowered himself behind her. “Of course, you aren’t. You’re the fiercest woman I’ve ever met.”
Ailsa pursed her lips. There it was again—that shift. The man stepped from one mood to the next whenever it suited him.
Heat crept up her neck. “Now you’re making fun.”
“No.” The teasing edge left his voice. “I saw the way you faced off against those Reedohran. And that pickpocket back in Cleghorn didn’t stand a chance.”
She made a noncommittal sound, even as her chest tightened.
She didn’t want praise for either of those things.
“Aye, well, Kayla made sure early on that I gained some basic fighting skills … Braewall can be a rough fort.”
“She did well.” A pause followed. “So, do you want me to rub your back or not?”
She could feel him behind her. Not touching, yet close enough that the heat of his body bled through the layers of her clothing.
Too close. His nearness distracted her.
“Very well,” she muttered at last.
Another beat passed, and then his hands found her. His fingertips slid down her back, stopping just above her hips. The touch was firm, deliberate, as if he knew exactly where to press. Then his knuckles began to work into the tight muscles there.
Her breath caught. She went rigid.
“For the love of the Gods, relax,” he muttered.
She almost snapped at him. Instead, she forced her shoulders to drop, inch by reluctant inch.
She let go of some of the tension, but not the knot of worry lodged deep inside her.
His hands didn’t falter.
They moved with slow, steady pressure, working the ache from her lower back. The pain resisted at first—clinging stubbornly—but then, gradually, it began to ease.
A traitorous sound pressed at the back of her throat. She swallowed it down.
Better he didn’t hear that. She didn’t want him to know how good it felt, or how aware of him she was. That wasn’t right, not with Kayla lost somewhere ahead in the dark.
“Your parents,” she said after a while, her voice a touch unsteady. “It sounds as if they had a happy marriage?”
“Aye … they did.”
“Did? They’re gone now?”
“Aye.”
His hands shifted, thumbs pressing into the muscles on either side of her spine, circling slowly. She sucked in a breath through her nose as the pressure deepened.
“Your mother was blessed by The Five indeed … if your father massaged her like this,” she murmured. Her cheeks warmed. Curse her. She needed to shut up.
He didn’t answer that. “Here,” he said instead, quieter now. “Lean forward a little.”
She hesitated and then did as he asked.
His hands followed the movement, sliding slightly higher. The pressure changed.
Her eyes fluttered shut. That was even better than before.
“I never knew my real parents,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Why had she told him that?
“No?” His voice was low, closer now.
“I was abandoned at birth … left on Kayla’s doorstep. She brought me up as her own.”
The pressure of his thumbs deepened—just for a moment—before easing again.
“A foundling, then?”
“It’s not uncommon.” Defensiveness crept into Ailsa’s tone, even as her pulse quickened. Of late, she’d found herself worrying about the things she’d always taken for granted. What if Kayla lied to me? “Many lasses get with bairn and have no means to look after them.”
His thumbs slowed. “You must wonder who you are.”
Ailsa didn’t reply. Instead, she remembered the thief’s face. The satisfaction she’d felt when her nails tore his skin. The way the Reedohran’s blood had steamed across the stones. How she’d run toward danger instead of away from it.
Last night’s dream revisited her then, and her pulse lurched. Fear flickered up. What if it got worse?
“Sometimes,” she said, her voice roughening. “Although Kayla has been a mother to me in all the ways that count.”
Another silence settled. This one felt different, more companionable. Shared.
His hands stilled. For a moment, she thought he might pull away. Instead, his thumbs resumed their slow, steady circles. “She sounds formidable,” he said at last.
Ailsa’s lips curved faintly, her tension easing once more. “She is.”
She let herself sink into the massage then, into the heat of the fire—enjoying the steady rhythm of his hands, the absence of pain.
Just for a moment.