Chapter five
“I ken well why ye picked that man to be yer protector,” Gillie said as she stuffed a hunk of coarse oat bread, still faintly warm from the afternoon fire, and two wineskins sharp with the scent of fermented berries into a knapsack, then tied it to my horse.
The leather straps groaned as she pulled them tight, the scent of oiled tack mingling with the lingering smoke of peat fires drifting lazily across the encampment.
My gaze went straight to where James stood across from Gillie’s and my tent.
The ground beneath his boots was packed firm by many passing feet, and the air carried that faint chill that crept in as the sun began to lose its strength.
He had his back to us as he fastened supplies onto a massive black destrier whose dark coat glistened in the last slanting rays of sunlight.
The beast shifted restlessly, its breath puffing warm against the cooling air.
My cheeks heated at the reaction my body had to looking at him.
He was a powerfully built man, so broad-shouldered that the linen of his shirt pulled slightly across his back as he secured a strap.
I had seen many strong men before, yet there was something in the deliberate confidence of his movements that stirred a warmth low in my belly, a warmth that moved lower to my core.
I cleared my throat to answer Gillie. I could feel her watching me, the weight of her gaze as tangible as the cooling breeze brushing my cheek. When I glanced her way, she wore a knowing smirk.
“I picked him because he seems brave, and he does nae have a wife and children.”
“Because ye want him,” Gillie teased.
The heat on my cheeks spread rapidly to my neck. “I do nae want him,” I corrected Gillie.
She snorted softly at that. “’Tis doubtful with an arse like that.”
Before I could stop myself, my gaze flicked toward James again. Gillie had spoken the truth. The man had a good arse, the line of his braes shifting as he moved, with strength evident even in stillness.
“Gillie,” I warned.
“Katreine,” she replied, then tugged me into a hug before stepping back and handing me a ribbon. “For yer hair and to remind ye of us.”
I took the blue ribbon and traced my finger over the yellow stars she’d embroidered there, then swallowed past the lump in my throat.
“Thank ye,” I said, tying the ribbon in my hair and hugging Gillie once more.
Her cloak smelled of rosemary and smoke, comforting and achingly familiar.
The air between us still held the day’s faint warmth, though the promise of evening coolness pressed at the edges.
“I’m going to miss ye,” she whispered as we stood there, clinging to each other.
Her words struck deep. This was the second time in my life I’d had to say goodbye to my family, and both times were the direct result of my foolish wish, so long ago, to be older than my sister.
As I held Gillie tightly, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath, memory rose sharp as the scent of crushed heather beneath our boots.
I had a flash of saying goodbye to my mama, papa, and sisters so long ago.
The place where I said goodbye had changed, the people I bid farewell to were different, but I had not changed one bit.
The pain of leaving someone I loved, knowing I might never see them again, knowing that even if I did make it back to them, they could likely be gone because death had claimed them, well, that pain nearly drove me to my knees as I stood here.
My breath came shallow, and the golden light blurred, wavering through gathering tears.
Gillie squeezed me tighter, as though sensing the tremor running through me, then drew back.
Tears shone on her lashes, catching the fading sunlight.
“Ye will have the curse broken, and ye will return to yer family.”
“Ye are also my family,” I whispered.
“Aye,” she said gently. “But ye ken what I mean. Ye will return to the family ye were born into and take yer rightful place.”
A cool breeze stirred, lifting loose strands of my hair, and I tucked them back behind my ear as I spoke.
“I do nae care for taking my rightful place,” I said, brushing away tears that were already cooling on my skin.
“I could nae even if I wanted to,” I added.
“Even if I could break the curse, I could nae ever return home. They’d take one look at me, unchanged in twenty years, name me a witch, and hang me. ”
Gillie opened her mouth as if to speak, but across the way, James motioned toward me.
The sky behind him glowed a soft gold, and I knew we needed to leave.
“I do want to go home and see my family just one more time,” I rushed out, feeling the press of time as I had not in years.
“I want to ensure they are all right, but I fear—well, I fear—”
“Aye,” Gillie said, the one word heavy with understanding and sorrow. “Ye fear time will have taken many of them.”
I nodded because my throat had tightened, but I swallowed and spoke again. “If I can break the curse, I’ll come back here.”
She arched her eyebrows at me. “And if nae?”
The air suddenly felt colder. “If nae,” I said, barely above a whisper, “I do nae think I can stand to lose ye someday, the children, and—”
She set a cold finger to my lips and scowled at me. “Ye can nae go through life alone.”
I pushed her finger away and grabbed her hands. “I can nae go through life losing those I love. ’Tis too much pain to bear over and over again.”
Now she glared at me. “Ye promised Mara ye’d aid me.”
“Aye,” I said, misery rising. “But—”
“Nay!” she bit out, stomping her foot, the sound dull against the packed earth. “I will nae hear any arguments. What is yer plan, then?” she demanded in a furious whisper, her face turning red. “Will ye live alone in a cave? Will ye avoid all human contact?”
“Nay,” I said softly. “Do nae be ridiculous. I will be a true Traveler, and I will go from village to village healing people until I hopefully meet my end someday.”
“That is a terrible plan,” she said, shaking her head.
“Aye,” I agreed, “but ’tis the only one I have right now.”
She poked lightly over my heart. “Ye could nae ever stick to that. Ye feel too much. Ye will let someone in. First, they will be a friend, and then a mentor, mayhap, and then they will be as family, just like—”
“Just like Mara and the rest of ye.”
She gave me an understanding smile. “Ye can avoid loving a man, I suppose,” she said, shrugging. “Though I do nae recommend it, as they can bring ye such pleasure out of bed and within.”
Warmth bloomed in my cheeks again, despite the growing cold.
She winked at me. “But ye can nae avoid feeling for anyone without avoiding everyone, and if ye do that, if ye live in isolation, ’tis nae living at all.”
Her words settled heavily in my chest as dusk claimed more of the sky.
The thought of losing her, the children, and so many other Summer Walkers I’d come to love made me ache, but I knew she was right that the life I’d have if I shut everyone out would be miserable, so I would relent, just a bit.
“I’ll return nae matter what,” I grumbled, “but I’ll nae be wedding a man, falling in love, and having bairns, only to lose them all.
Nay.” “I’ll nae push ye,” she said. “But ye might as well enjoy the pleasure a man can bring ye, especially one ye ken ye will nae ever see again.”
Her gaze slid past my shoulder toward James, and before I could stop myself, a question slipped out. “Do ye ken if it’s possible to be with a man and avoid having a child?”
Her eyes met mine, and a slow, conspiratorial smile tugged the corners of her mouth up with a wicked tug.
“As a matter of fact,” she said, “I do.”
Not long later, with Gillie’s words about how to prevent a bairn in my head, along with her comments that James would be the perfect candidate for me to ‘take my pleasure,’ as she said, I found myself being helped onto my horse, James’s hands wrapped around my waist. I don’t know whether it was Gillie’s teasing words playing through my mind or simply that I was attracted to this man in a way I’d never been to another, but when James touched me, my entire body tingled.
Heat blossomed immediately in my lower belly and, unfortunately, on my face.
“Safe travels!” Gillie called with a grin. I knew she had seen my blush and likely understood why. “See ye soon!” she added, and I knew that was her way of reminding me I had promised to return.
I followed James’s lead, letting him wind us past the Summer Walkers and villagers who’d gathered to see me off.
At the end of the line stood Dyron and Sorcha, their small hands clasped, cheeks smudged with dirt and berry juice.
My chest tightened as I slowed my horse, dismounted, and knelt to hug the children.
When I pulled back, Dyron handed me a long piece of twine knotted into a bracelet.
“We made it for ye,” he said, motioning to himself and his sister, who was now sucking her thumb.
I blinked back tears and kissed both their foreheads. “Thank ye.”
I could feel James watching me as I mounted, but he didn’t say anything, and I did my best not to meet his gaze so he wouldn’t see the sheen of unshed tears. When my arse hit the saddle, the tears broke through, and I averted my gaze completely.
“We’ll miss ye, Auntie Katreine!” Dyron called, and the tears came harder.
“Take this,” James said quietly.
I had no choice but to turn to him, so I quickly wiped my cheeks and glanced his way. I was surprised to see a wine skin and a torn piece of plaid clutched in the hand he extended to me. “What’s this for?” I said, grasping the items.
“The wine is to comfort ye. ’Tis hard to say goodbye to those ye love, and the plaid is because, well, ’tis, uh, ye’ve a smudge on yer cheeks.”