English, Elizabeth (43 page)

He
glanced down at the bright head leaning against his shoulder.
Journeys end
in lovers meeting.
It was true, at least for him.
She
was his home,
and if not for her, he would have wandered lost forever. He wanted to tell her
that, to thank her, but his heart was too full for speech. Later, then. There
was time. He was home for good, his journey ended.

Then
Alyson looked up at him and smiled and his pulse leaped as it always did at the
start of an adventure. Oh, no, he thought, tightening his arm around her. It
isn't ended. It's our journey now, our adventure.

And
it's only just beginning.

Alistair
halted his horse upon the hilltop. Hands
clenched upon the reins, he
watched Alyson and Jemmy walk through the courtyard, arm-in-arm. His gaze moved
past them to the small party vanishing toward the border.

Was
that really Darnley—the man who had murdered Stephen and Ian and countless
others, despoiled Clare McLaran, sent his own daughter off to almost certain
death—riding merrily homeward under the Laird's own protection? Oh, the world
had gone completely mad—or else
his
wits were lost. How else could he
explain the fact that he, the Laird's beloved foster son and Captain of his
knights, now had no home, no name, no past he wanted to remember, and a future
too bleak to contemplate?

He
sat as the sun moved slowly westward, staring down at Ravenspur below. There,
at the corner of the oasthouse, he had kissed his first lass. And there was the
orchard where he and Ian used to lie, eating apples and imagining the
adventures they would have when they were grown.

He
sat until the harsh cawing of a corby startled him into awareness that the
shadows had grown long. It was time he was away. But where? The McLarans were
his only kin, but that road was closed to him now. Emma would not forgive the
man who had threatened Clare's daughter with death. All hands were truly set
against him, just as the Laird had said.

"What
a balls up! Well, the only thing to do is get drunk and go to sleep. Tomorrow
it will all look better."

Alistair
started. The voice had seemed so real, so close. Then he remembered Ian saying
those very words—not once, but many times—when one of his wild plans had gone
awry. But what would Ian say about this situation?

The
answer came, swift and very clear. "God's blood, Alistair, will ye never
leave off brooding? So it all went wrong! So what? Life's too short to spend in
grieving for the past. Come on, let's ride ahead and see what happens
next!"

There
being nothing else to do, Alistair turned his horse's head and passed, a
solitary shadow, into the darker shadow of the trees.