Chapter Fourteen
After riding in silence for more than an hour, they cleared the forest and crossed a wide field, which brought them to a road. “It forks up ahead. I ken ye won’t tell me where we’re going, but how about a general direction?”
“North.”
He knew her answer was clipped intentionally. “Northeast or west?”
“Does it matter?”
He gestured to the two roads. “We must make a choice.”
She clicked her tongue, nudging her horse across the road onto the adjacent field. “No roads,” she said.
“Wait!”
She brought her mount to a halt.
Taking in the stubborn tilt to her chin, he ran his hand through his hair. “No roads? Are ye certain?”
She simply nodded in reply.
He considered her for a moment, her tall seat and intelligent gaze.
He knew there was so much more to his English weaver than she would ever let on.
He had so many questions, but he also knew, if pressed, that she would only grow more suspicious or withdraw from him altogether.
As one of Scotland’s rebel sons, he was no stranger to secrets, but ensuring her safety was made more difficult by not knowing where they were going or what they would face when they arrived.
“How far north?” he asked, thinking it was an innocent enough question.
“Far.”
“All the way to the border?”
She nodded in reply.
“Beyond the border into Scotland?”
Again, she nodded.
He smiled. “What business does an English lass have in Scotland?”
“My father was English, but my mother was Scottish.”
He was surprised by her forthright answer. “I did not realize that. Then, we must be journeying to yer mother’s people.”
“In a manner of speaking.” The glint in her eye told him she was being deliberately vague.
“I believe ye enjoy keeping me in the dark,” he said, ensuring the mood stayed light. The only way he was going to get a straight answer from her was if she let her guard down.
To his surprise, she smiled. “Are you too pampered to travel through the wilds. Must you seek the comforts of town?”
“I’m a sailor and a fisherman by trade. I’ve slept more nights under the stars than beneath a roof.”
“I’m not surprised. For you, a roof is something to walk upon rather than to sleep beneath.”
He threw his head back with laughter. “I’ll have to be lighter on my toes next time I walk the ridge of a roof.”
Her gaze slowly traveled the full length of him. “I think you’d best pray for a miracle if you ever wish to be accused of lightness on your feet.”
He gave her an appraising look. “Ye’re on the taller side for a woman.”
She sat straighter in her seat, showing off her full height. “I’m glad you noticed.” She nudged her horse with her heels. “Now, enough talk. Come on, Ruby. Let’s ride!”
Over rolling moorland they rode. In the distance, he saw the small hamlet of Cridhe. The setting sun cast streaks of gold and pink hues across the horizon. Overhead, however, thick, dark clouds dotted the shadowy sky, shifting and spreading.
“We won’t be sleeping under the stars tonight,” he said as the evening sky was quickly devoured by the gathering storm clouds.
Jo turned her gaze heavenward and nodded grimly. “The sky was red this morning.” Then she turned to face him, her expression determined. “I’ve no wish to sleep on the sodden earth. Do as you’d like, but I shall carry on.”
Ian nodded. “Ye could certainly do that, although yer horse and Ruby might not be as eager to continue as ye.”
She stroked Star’s mane, her brow pinched with concern. Then she turned her attention to the large dog, sitting on the ground, panting.
“I know a place not far from here where we can find shelter,” Ian offered.
“No villages,” she warned.
He smiled softly. “I promise ye.”
The tension fled her shoulders. “All right, then, lead on.”
For the first time since they had set out, he led the way. To reach the shelter before the sky opened and unleashed the storm, they galloped over the open moors, Ruby racing to keep up. Normally, he would have cut through Cridhe to reach their destination, but instead he skirted around the village.
Before too long, they reached their camp for the night, an ancient long barrow. Two massive stones stood like sentries and formed a natural entrance to a wide, open circle, surrounded by tall stones, except where another passage opened, leading into a deep tunnel that dipped beneath the ground.
“We can leave the horses here,” Ian said after they had passed into the open circle. “’Tis an ancient burial mound, but do not fash yerself. This will not be the first night I’ve slept here to escape a storm.”
She dismounted and peered into the tunnel entrance, Ruby sniffing the ground behind her. “Do you mean to say there are bodies laid to rest in there.”
“Only behind the walls. Ye can’t see any of them.
There is just one long tunnel with openings that branch off on both sides.
Thieves have broken through to where the dead have been laid, but the walls have since been resealed.
And remember, this was built by godless men who lived on this island long before the Gaels, Normans, or Vikings ever came to these shores. I assure ye ‘tis perfectly safe.”
Jo shook her head. “We might offend the spirits that rest here?”
Ian smiled patiently. “The souls that herein lie are ancient and wise. They ken when a heart is good. We’ve naught to fear.”
She chewed her lip, betraying her uncertainty.
“If ye’d rather go back to the village, I know a lovely inn run by a plump older woman by the name of Mistress Bea. She keeps a thick pottage bubbling on the hearth day and night for travelers. And her feather ticks are free of fleas. Ye’ll sleep like a babe at ol’ Bea’s.”
She seemed to consider the inn, but only for a moment. With a deep breath, she took a resolute first step down into the cavernous tomb. “This will do,” she said stiffly. Then she hesitated. “It’s so dark.”
“It won’t be once we build a fire.” He turned to his horse, removing his saddle bags. “It will be dry and warm. Ye’ll see.”
After they tended the horses and gathered their supplies, Jo once again hesitantly peered into the darkness.
“I will go first, if ye’d like,” he offered.
She shook her head stubbornly. “’Tis no matter. Come on, girl.”
Ruby sniffed at the entrance and whimpered.
“Don’t you start,” Jo scolded. “We have been in stickier situations than this.”
Ian had to bend low to fit through the tunnel. “Keep straight. There’s a branch up ahead into a chamber long enough to permit us to recline.”
After a fair bit of stumbling on both their parts, and an unfortunate moment when he trailed too close to Ruby who snarled and nipped at his leg in warning, he followed them into a wide space with a low ceiling, requiring them both to remain hunched over.
“These accommodations are not excellent for the tall.”
Only silence met his jest.
Still, he smiled undeterred. “One of these days, I am going to make ye throw yer head back with laughter.”
“If we had a small fire, you’d be able to see my brow arched in disbelief.”
“Consider it done,” he said, arranging the necessary supplies.
“What about the smoke?” she asked when he first struck the flint.
“’Tis drawn through the gaps and cracks in the walls and into the many chambers. ‘Tis said that the barrow stretches far beyond this main tunnel.”
Soon warm light filled the chamber, the flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. Bending low, he turned to retrieve some of the dried meat from his satchel, but Ruby was already there, sniffing and pawing at it.
“Let me get some for ye, lass,” he said, but Ruby growled and bared her teeth, standing guard over the pack. He cleared his throat and looked at Jo. “Mayhap it would be best if ye sorted out supper.”
Jo chuckled. “Good idea.”
“Ye just laughed!”
“Only at your expense,” she said dryly, but her lips curved in the barest hint of a smile that belied her somber tone.
“Thank ye,” he said, taking her offering of a thick cut of the dried meat and an oatcake.
They ate in silence, her gaze scanning the ancient runes and pictures on the walls.
“I wonder what they were like,” she said. “I mean the people who drew these pictures.”
“I’m sure they were not much different than ye and I,” he said keenly. “They had families, people they cared for.”
“Do you have a family?” she asked.
He nodded. “I do. My parents are both dead and my wee sister, may God rest their souls, but I have four older brothers and an older sister.”
Her eyes widened. “Such a large family.”
He shrugged. “Not so large really, although it was a challenge to find a spot of ground in our one room cottage to lay out a pallet as we all grew taller.” He smiled.
“My parents did not count on us being so large, me especially, when they had settled in the midst of the busy market district of Berwick.”
She leaned in, suddenly very attentive. “You grew up in Berwick?”
“Indeed,” he answered. “What a fine city it once was.”
“My father used to tell me stories of the great city. Were you there when it was sacked?”
“I was not in the city when Edward attacked, which is why I’m still alive. My parents and wee sister were not so lucky as the rest of us. They were slain by the English invaders. Rose—she’s my eldest sister—her family was also slain, her three wee daughters and her husband.”
Jo gasped. “That’s awful.”
“Those were dark years.”
“How old were you?” she asked.
“Ten and five.” He paused and then thought to ask, “How old were ye when yer da died?”
She didn’t answer right away. Ian worried he had pushed too far, but then came her soft reply. “I was ten and five.”
They locked eyes and for a moment a comfortable silence hung in the air. A connection had been made. He could feel her guard come down ever so slightly.
“Do ye have any other family to speak of?”
She looked away. “My family is dead.”
He waited, hoping she would say more, but as the silence between them grew, he knew she had revealed all she would for the moment.
He handed her a costrel of ale.
She accepted and brought it to her lips, but then she hesitated. “This food and drink belong to you. I will pay you for them.”
He shook his head slightly. “Do not fash yerself, lass. I’m happy to share.”
Her brow wrinkled with suspicion. “Nothing is freely given in this world.”
“’Tis a shameful day, indeed, when a fellow traveler is unwilling to share their supplies.”
Still, he could tell she was not yet convinced.
“Listen to me, Jo. I wish to help ye, not for gain, or even to settle my debt, as I consider that to be paid in full. I want to help ye because I care what happens to ye. I don’t want ye to be hungry or attacked by bandits.
Is it so hard to imagine that I might just wish to help with no agenda of my own? ”
“It is,” she said simply. “I’ve known few men, and women for that matter, who consider others without first thinking of themselves.”
“My parents were good people,” he offered. “They taught us generosity and honor. I’m hardly perfect. I’ve made my mistakes, and I assure ye I will make many more before I join our bedfellows in the hereafter,” he said, gesturing to the wall, behind which rested ancient souls long since dead.
Her lips upturned into an almost smile. At length, she released a long breath and flashed him a curious look. “You really are a decent man, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “I promise ye, Jo. I mean ye no harm.”
Without reply, she laid down and curled into Ruby, who sighed when she felt her mistress’s warmth.
Ian sat back and rested his head against the stones and watched his newfound lassies for a while. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
He jerked awake. The fire was nothing more than glowing embers.
He sat up, seizing the handle of his broad sword, intent on discovering what had awoken him.
Then, Jo stirred beside him and cried out.
In the dim light he could see her brows pinched.
Then, she whimpered, her head thrashing from side to side.
“Jo,” he whispered and gently shook her shoulder.
“No,” she cried.
“Jo,” he said more urgently.
Ruby’s head lifted. She growled low in her throat.
Jo started to tremble, her face red, pain twisting her features.
“Jo,” he said more forcefully, lifting her into his arms. Ruby whined, nudging her nose at her mistress’s face.
Jo’s eyes flew wide. “No,” she cried again, pushing against him.
“’Tis me. ‘Tis Ian. Ye’re having a bad dream!”
Her eyes darted from side to side, her breaths coming quick and short.
“’Tis all right, lass,” he crooned.
She gripped his tunic. “I...I...”
“’Tis all right, Jo. Just breathe.”
She shook her head furiously. “It’s not all right. It can never be all right.” She swallowed hard. “I dreamt of my father.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “And my mother...” Her voice broke, but she pressed her hand to her mouth, containing the emotion.
He could see her struggle not to feel, not to break, to remain strong. The weight on her heart must have been unbearable. He wrapped his arm around her. “’Tis all right to cry, lass.”
She shook her head furiously. “Mustn’t cry...I have to be strong. I promised my mother I’d stay strong.”
His heart ached for her. “Och, lass,” he began gently. “Ye can’t keep it all locked up inside. Yer mum would want ye to grieve for her. How else will ye move on? When my mum died, I didn’t think I’d ever stop crying.” He held her closer. “Let yer tears fall.”
She looked up at him, her flooded eyes beseeching, silently pleading for release. “I...I...I just don’t understand how all of this happened,” she began. Her grip on his tunic tightened, her knuckles whitening from the strain.
“Jo,” he said firmly. “Yer mother is dead. Cry for her.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out nor did she breathe. And, suddenly, her face crumpled. “My mother’s dead,” she cried. Shuddering, her arms surrounded him, and she sobbed into the crook of his neck.
He waited for her to say more, but only her tears fell.
And despite how he longed to know the workings of her heart, what was driving her quest, and what he was actually protecting her from, he did not press her.
She clung to him, and he held her, rocking her, crooning soft words of comfort.
After a while, her breathing evened. Cradling her close, he held her while she slept.
He prayed his strong arms and the beating of his heart in her ear would keep her demons, whatever they were, at bay.