Forever Her Champion (4 page)

The man stood then, looking for all the world like a man who felt guilty. She decided to play on the guilt. Later, she would ask the Lord’s forgiveness. For now, she had to save a man’s life.

“I ken he was drunk and fightin’,” she said, looking up at him with watery eyes. “I ken ye were just doin’ yer job, m’laird. And ye cannae worry over a woman heavy with child or her other three children who cry themselves to sleep each night, fer they miss their father. My husband may have escaped the English devils, but I fear he left his mind there, the poor, wretched man.”

Eying the sheriff carefully, she sniffled again as she removed a kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “He was a good man, m’laird. A verra good man. We lived a simple life, farmin’ the land and raisin’ our bairns. He could have stayed at home with us when it came time to fight, but he refused. He wanted to support James the Third. He wanted to fight fer his country, ye ken. And fight he did, with honor and bravery, alongside the Gordons.”

The more she spoke, the more his face fell and his shoulder’s sagged.

“I fear that bein’ locked up again will be the death of him,” she said. “I ken ye’d treat him better than the English did, but me heart, me heart kens ’twill be the death of him.”

In truth, she did not take any great enjoyment in manipulating the man. But Aiden’s life did hang in the balance. If she didn’t do something, who knows what would happen to him. Besides, he was her only hope of getting to Allistair Castle.

* * *

P
laying
to the sheriff’s sense of duty to country worked far better than she had anticipated. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest when he called for one of his guards to escort her to Aiden’s cell and to release him.

“I’ll pay fer the damages done to the tavern,” Rianna lied. “As soon as we get to me father’s home he will be happy to pay. He considers me husband a hero, ye ken.”

Moments later, a guard appeared next to her. After a quick explanation from the sheriff, he escorted Rianna to her
husband.

The guard opened the heavy wood door and led Rianna down the long, dank corridor to Aiden’s
cell. Low burning torches did little to take away from the bleakness. The foul air, heavy with despair and want, urine and excrement and filth, assaulted her senses. She had to hold up a bit of her cloak to cover her face to keep from retching.

In the first cell they passed, a man was huddled in the corner, pulling at his long, filthy hair. In the next, several men were scattered about the small space. Some slept, while others stared at her blankly as she walked by.

Her heart ached for these poor souls, forced to live under such horrid conditions. It also ached with the knowledge that this could have been Aiden’s fate if she hadn’t intervened. Or even her own had she ever been caught stealing food for survival.

As if he could read her mind, the guard said, “Don’t feel too sorry for ‘em. Murderers and thieves they are for the most part.”

Keeping her head down, she did not respond. She, too, could be considered a thief. There had been more than one occasion in the past year whereby she was forced to steal a loaf of bread in order to eat.

The guard stopped just outside the last cell on their left, inserted the key, and opened the door.

As much as she wanted to take a deep breath to steel her nerves, the air stank too much.

Aiden was asleep on his back in a pile of moldy rushes. One arm was flung over his face, the other spread out wide. She reckoned he only slept peacefully because he was drunk.

The mud had caked on his skin, his clothes, and his hair. A long tear across his tunic exposed a bit of blonde hair on a hard chest. Wanting to be away from this place as quickly as possible, she fell on her knees at his side.

“Aiden.” Her voice cracked, filled with tears of sorrow on his behalf. “Aiden,” she whispered again, daring to place a hand on his shoulder. “Wake up, please. ’Tis me, Rianna.”

* * *

C
ertain he was
that ’twas only a whisky induced dream, Aiden rolled over, hoping to escape it. No matter how much drink he consumed, no matter how hard he prayed to the gods, he could never quite escape the dreams, the nightmares that had been haunting him for more than a decade.

But why was he dreaming of a lass he’d not laid eyes on since his childhood? And why did she sound older in the dream? ’Twas the gods playing with his heart and mind again, like a cat toying with a mouse. Just one more way for them to take away what little bit of his mind that remained intact.

In that place between reality and dreams, he heard the sweet voice speaking to him. “Aiden, I’ve come to take ye home.”

Home? He had no home. Hadn’t had a home since he was nine, before his sweet mum had passed away.

Anger rose rapidly as a warm hand pressed against his cheek. ’Twas the gods, tempting him again, trying to get him to believe he could have something more than a life filled with blackness and death. Offering the sweet dream, the warm hope one moment only to take it away the next. He batted the hand away, cursed the gods, and curled himself into a protective ball and willed himself to dream of nothing.

* * *

R
ianna could not understand
what he’d said, but the underlying feeling was clear. He was angry. But beneath the anger, she had a sense of deep sadness, of something bleak and abysmal — something frightening. For a tiny moment, she questioned her plan but quickly pushed the thought aside. Aiden had been the only true friend she’d ever had as a child. To this very day, she felt she owed him a lifetime of gratitude, for he had taught her there were still good, kind people in this world. People who did not care about your lineage or whether or not you were poor.

“Aiden, please wake up. I need to take ye away from this place, away from the goal. Let me take ye home,” she said as she caressed his cheek. “Let me help ye.”

Slowly, drunkenly, he opened his eyes. Flashes of pain, distrust, and anger passed behind those deep blue eyes before they were finally able to focus on her. She swallowed a gasp and a cry, so intense was the pain she felt on his behalf. Just as it had happened in their youth, closer than family, they knew without speaking how the other felt. This tiny moment in time was no different and it terrified her.

The guard began to grow weary of waiting and grunted his displeasure.

Pulling herself back into her role and the moment at hand, Rianna offered Aiden a warm smile. “’Tis me, Rianna,” she whispered softly. “I’ve come to take ye away from this place.”

“Ye’re nae real,” he said in a deep, scratchy voice. His eyes began to lose focus again.

She leaned in so that only he could hear her. “I be as real as all the whisky ye drank this day. And if ye do nae listen and play along, we’ll both end up dyin’ in this Godforsaken place.” She cast a knowing glance toward the guard.

Aiden blinked several times in an attempt to make some sense out of what she was saying. He finally turned enough to see the guard staring down at them.

Once she saw a glimpse of understanding in Aiden’s eyes, she looked up to the guard. “Please, help me get him to his feet.”

’Twas a bit of a struggle, but they managed and, moments later, were making their way out of the cell and down the corridor.

When she risked another glimpse at his face, Aiden looked dazed and confused. Almost blindly, he did as she asked, nodding occasionally when she encouraged him to take one more step. “Soon, we’ll be on our way, Aiden. I promise ne’er to let ye out of my sight again.”

Stupefied, he remained mute, staring as if he could not believe she was real.

His stupification increased after they stepped into the office of the sheriff. The man came to Aiden at once, placed one hand on his shoulder and proudly thanked him for his service to Scotland. “’Tis men like ye that make me proud to be a Scot. May God bless ye and keep ye.”

Rianna thanked the sheriff before hurrying out and into the bright afternoon sun.

“Have ye a horse?” she asked as they walked away from the goal.

A slow, uncertain nod was his only reply.

With one arm around his waist whilst she held his broadsword, she draped the other over her shoulder. “If ye can stay on yer feet long enough to get to the stables, we’ll be away from this place before ye ken it.”

Still met with silence, Rianna questioned her soundness of mind all the way to the public stables.

W
ith the help
of the blacksmith and stable keeper, they managed to get Aiden onto his horse. The stable keeper helped Rianna to sit in front of him, handed her the reins and suggested mayhap they tie Aiden to the saddle.

“That will nae be necessary,” she said with a sweet smile. “But we thank you for your kindness.”

She mistook Aiden’s disbelief for tenderness when he placed his arms around her waist. The gesture, innocent as it was, gave rise to an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach. ’Twas something she had not felt in an age. Doing her best to remain focused on getting them out of Inverness before anyone realized she had lied through her teeth, she tapped the flanks of their mount and headed out of town.

Once they were outside the city, she steered the horse northwest, keeping him at a slow pace as if she hadn’t a worry in the world. Aiden had rested his head against her neck, giving rise once again to that warm sensation.

As soon as she could no longer see Inverness at their back, Rianna tapped the flanks once again and encouraged the mount to go faster. She wanted as far away from Inverness as she could possibly manage before night fell. Aiden soon increased his hold on her waist. This time, she was certain ’twas merely to keep from falling from the horse.

A thousand questions poured into her mind as they rode across the land. How had Aiden come to be in Inverness? What had happened in his life that led him to break the vow he’d made in his youth? She could well remember the number of times he had sworn to her that he’d never become a drunkard like his father. Rianna had sworn she’d never end up like her mother, moving from one place to another, sleeping with one man after another. And they had both sworn that were they ever blessed with children of their own, they’d never beat or ignore them.

Thus far, Rianna had been able to keep her vow. Proud she was that her maidenhead was still intact. If ever she was blessed with finding a man she could give her heart to, she could go to the altar and their marital bed with a clean conscience. Though in truth, she had been hungry enough on more than one occasion to at least give thought to the temptation of lying with a man in order to survive. Her sheer will and determination to keep her childhood vow won out each and every time. Thievery, she believed, held less shame than whoring.

But what of Aiden? The last time she had seen him was the day they said goodbye in
Ardanaiseig
more than ten years ago. As always, he’d been the strong lad, refusing to cry in front of her, even after admitting he’d miss her. Always her stalwart champion, he had made her a promise that day.
When I’m older, I’ll find ye, Rianna, and together, we’ll find yer da.

Childhood dreams and wishes. Crushed by years of living as she had, moving from one place to another, never making another true friend. Living in her mother’s shadow. Living life as the ill born castoff of a man she wanted desperately to find again.

Hazy memories, images and feelings from that night long, long ago, floated in the ether, just out of her grasp. Were they truly memories or just dreams? She could not be certain if things had happened as she thought they had or if it was just the hopeful musings of a lonely child.

Though the images of that night were unclear, one thing she felt with a certainty was how she
felt.
Afraid, worried, and sorrowful. Those feelings could not have been made up in her wild imagination, could they?

Lost as she was in her worries and hopes, she hadn’t realized Aiden’s grip had loosened until she felt him dangling precariously behind her. A moment later, he slid from the back of the horse before she could pull to a stop.

Frantically, she slipped from the mount and raced to his side. Her breath was stolen away when she realized he had just barely missed hitting his skull against a large rock. “Aiden!” she cried as she began looking for broken bones. He did not move. Not so much as a grumble passed his lips. He lay limp on the ground, flat on his back. Gently, she patted his mud-encrusted cheeks. “Aiden! Please, wake up!”

Relief washed over her when he batted away her hand, grumbled incoherently and rolled away.

She let loose with a relieved sigh. “Thank ye, God!” she exclaimed.

Try as she might, she could not get him back to his feet. Nightfall was hours away. Though she was worried over the lies she’d told in Inverness, mayhap it would be some time before anyone figured out the truth. For now, she would have to put her faith in God to keep them safe.

Since she could not move the mountain named Aiden, she decided it best to simply make camp where they were. Though she was growing more frustrated that Aiden was in such a deep sleep that she couldn’t budge him, she still felt some measure of sorrow for him. Mayhap he had turned to drink because of a broken heart? Mayhap he’d given his heart to the wrong woman. Or he’d given it to the right one and lost her to some dreaded disease? Either way, she felt sorry for the poor man.

Her stomach began to growl once again and she began to feel light-headed. “Ye’ll get nowhere just sittin’ here,” she told herself before pushing to her feet. If she were lucky — which she’d be the first to admit she was not — she would find something to eat in Aiden’s packs. Ever hopeful, she carefully made her way to the gray speckled mare and prayed she’d not spook her into running away. The animal was grazing on summer grass when Rianna quietly took up the reins. The mare looked up, snorted as if to say she’d prefer not to be disturbed, before turning her attention back to her meal. With the reins in one hand, Rianna led the horse to a small bush and tied her to it.

Searching through the packs felt like a tremendous invasion of Aiden’s privacy. Justifying her invasion with the need to eat, she also hoped to find something that would explain his current state. Mayhap a lock of hair tied in a bow? A letter or two expressing undying love and devotion?

The search for intimate knowledge was fruitless. No journals or letters. No locks of hair. Not even an old dried flower. Nothing at all to indicate a great love or a broken heart.

All she found were two clean tunics, a pair of brown leather trews, a shaving knife, one jar of clean smelling soap, a hook and string with which to fish, a bundle of dried beef, and a handful of walnuts. She also found two flagons of ale, one of which was almost empty. Not much in the way of earthly possessions, but at least he had food.

Not far from where her former champion slept, just down a small embankment, she found a wide stream. Fishing could wait until after she tended to the bloody, wounded man. After dipping the cloth into the cold water, she headed back to Aiden.

Kneeling beside him, she wiped away as much of the mud and blood as she could. Wishing for all the world for a bowl or a bucket, she had to make three trips to the stream to rinse out the filthy cloth. ‘Twasn’t until the fourth go of it that she began to see his face more clearly.

Even through the swollen lip and black eye, she could see he had grown into a fine looking man. A firm jaw and muscles that, even while he slept like the dead, looked as though they’d been chiseled from granite. The crescent shaped scar was white against his sun kissed skin. As if it had happened only that morn, she could remember clearly how he’d come by it. They’d been running along the docks, as children do. He had tripped on his own feet and landed face down in a bundle of fishing lines. One of the hooks had ripped through his tender flesh. Even as he lay there bleeding and in pain, he ended up consoling
her.
With all the blood running down his neck and into his ears, she thought for certain he would die.
“Wheest, lass! Ye’re cryin’ loud enough to wake the dead!”

With his father far too into his cups to be of any assistance, a wife of one of the fisherman had heard Rianna’s screams and come to help. In her warm little home, she cleansed the cut and sewed his skin back together. Rianna had watched in fascination as the kind woman stitched his skin. What surprised her most was the fact that Aiden did not shed one tear. Nor did he complain of the pain. In that little moment, she looked at him with awe and fascination. ’Twas also then she decided that someday she would marry him. Only a man with such strength as to not cry when he was wounded would be good enough for her.

Afterwards, the fisherman’s wife gave them warm cider and sweet cakes before sending them off with a motherly warning to not run along the docks. He allowed her to help him back to his own hut. And ’twas there, on his doorstep, that she stole a kiss from him. Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek before running away. Aye, ’twas just a peck on the cheek, but in the eyes of a six-year-old girl, ’twas a kiss all the same.

Now here they were, some twelve years later, in the middle of God-only-knew where. What had become of him? What had led him here?

Several trips to the stream later, and she had managed to get all the mud and muck cleaned from his arms and hands. When she lifted the collar of his tunic to clean his chest, she noticed several small scars scattered there. Old scars, but not as old as the scar under his chin. Unable to remove his tunic for closer inspection — and without a lick of experience at such things — she had no good idea how they came to be. Any inquiries would have to wait until he woke.

Believing he was as clean as she could get him, she retrieved a blanket from her own possessions and covered him with it. Folding one of the blankets from his mount, she carefully tucked it under his head.

It would have been easy to simply sit and stare at him until he woke, but her stomach protested against such foolish notions. Leaving him, she retrieved the hook and string and went to the stream to fish.

* * *

P
ulling
the hem of her dress betwixt her legs, she tucked it into her belt and knelt beside the stream. Washing her face and hands as best she could, she did not tarry long, for the water was far too cold.

Back along the bank, she dug for worms to use as bait. Fortune seemed to remain with her, for she quickly found a few long worms hidden deep in the mud.

Soon, she was sitting on the bank, ever hopeful of catching at least one decent fish to eat. She nibbled on a few nuts and pieces of dried beef to help assuage her hunger. ’Twas as quiet an afternoon as she could ever remember. The breeze tickled playfully through the trees, whilst birds chirped and sang and flittered about. Allowing her mind to wander, she thought back to her childhood, to times spent with Aiden Macgullane.

Such a kind boy he had been. It had been Aiden who taught her how to fish, to catch rabbits and squirrels. He had told her stories, comforted her when she was worried about her father and what might have become of him. He had listened to her endless stories of the man she could not remember but idolized just the same. Idolized almost as much as she had Aiden.

She did not possess many fond memories from her childhood. But those she did have always involved Aiden. It didn’t dawn on her until that very moment that he was one of the main reasons she had not married. There hadn’t been a young man she’d ever met who could hold a candle to him, though she hadn’t realized it at the time.

If she were ever to marry, the man would have to possess the same strength, the same sense of honor, and the ability to make her laugh as much and as hard as he had in their youth. Any potential husband would also be required to assist her in helping to find her father.

To date, she had not met anyone who could live up to those high standards.

When she thought of the man currently passed out from too much drink, she wondered if even he could meet those high expectations. Was there a man alive who could? ’Twas doubtful. Mayhap it was time for her to set those silly childhood dreams aside and face reality.

When she looked at her current predicament she had to release a heavy sigh. Nine and ten summers old and she was still searching. Searching for her father as well as a husband who could meet her less-than-reasonable expectations.

Home.

That was all she ever truly wanted. A home to call her very own. A family she could be proud of. A loving husband and children. Was that too much to ask for? She didn’t think so. ‘Twasn’t as if she were praying for a grand castle to call home. She never prayed for riches or fine silk dresses or servants to do her bidding. Nay, none of those things would ever make her truly happy. She didn’t want
things.
She wanted to love and be loved. ’Twas that simple.

But if it were that simple, why was it so hard to attain?