Forever Her Champion (6 page)

* * *

R
ianna could not understand
his sudden change in mood. Why was he so angry?

“Ye remember nothin’ of yesterday?” she asked as she twisted her hand from his grasp.

“I already told ye I did nae.” His words were clipped, harsh.

With a cleansing breath, she steeled her nerves before explaining how she had rescued him from the goal by pretending to be his wife. Thankfully, he listened quietly as she told him the entire story, including how he had slipped from their horse. “When I realized I could nae move ye, I made camp around ye. I even washed the mud from yer face and hands.” She left out the part about how much delight she took in washing his chest and neck. She also neglected to tell him where they were going.

“Why would ye do that?” he asked her, baffled by her tale.

“Ye are my friend. I could nae just leave ye there to rot.” Of course, that was not the only reason. Considering the expression on his face, the ease with which he grew angry, she thought it best to gradually work her way up to that topic.

His expression alone was enough to say he thought her quite daft. “Friend?” he asked as if she’d gone mad.

His question and tone hurt. “Aye, Aiden, ye are my friend. Ye have been since we were children. Or can ye nae remember that either?”

“Rianna, I am nae the same lad I was when last ye saw me,” he told her through gritted teeth.

“And I am nae the same lost little girl
ye
knew,” she countered. “But none of that matters. Ye were the only true friend I had as a child and for that, I owe you a lifetime of gratitude.” He could not begin to understand, to truly comprehend how much his friendship had meant to her as a little girl. ’Twas doubtful he ever would.

Quietly, she watched as he began to pace back and forth as if trying to figure out some grand mystery. She could not understand why the topic seemed to frustrate him so. When she could take his silence or pacing no longer, she spoke once again. “Aiden, I ken much has happened these many years. We’ve both changed. But one thing that has nae changed and never will, is how grateful I am to ye or how much I admire ye.”

He spun on his heels. “Admire me?” he exclaimed. “Admire
me?
” He shook his head and turned away. “There is nothin’ about me to admire, lass. Ye do nae ken the first thing about me. If ye did, ye would be appalled, nae lookin’ fondly at me.”

Unable to resist the burning question, she asked, “Why would ye say such a thing?”

“’Tis none of yer bloody business,” he told her angrily. “Trust me when I say ye would nae like the answers.”

There was something hidden just under his anger; she could feel it to her bones. Deciding mayhap that now was not the time to delve into his past or ask him why he hurt so much, she changed the topic. “Ye should bathe and eat before we leave,” she told him as she began to walk back to their makeshift camp.

* * *

H
e caught
the scent of lilacs again when she walked past him. Tamping down the desire to take her in his arms, he kept a good distance as he followed her back to their camp, then watched as she began to light another fire.
If she only knew the truth
, he mused,
she’d be runnin’ for the hills.
‘Twould help matters a great deal if she were not so beautiful nor kind.

“Why did ye take me away from Inverness?” he asked, his tone softening, the anger slowly subsiding.

Briefly, her hand paused in midair before she tossed a handful of sticks into the flames. “Ye made me a promise.”

“A promise?” he asked, cocking his head to one side as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Keeping her focus on building the fire, she gave a curt nod. “Aye,” she said, “and I ken ye do nae remember it.”

His shoulders sagged with guilt. “I be sorry, lass, but I was so bloody drunk I can nae remember a thing from yesterday.”

Silence filled the air betwixt them. “Tell me, what promise did I give?”

Another long interval of silence passed before she answered. “Ye promised to take me to Castle Allistair.”

He searched his mind for the smallest recollection but came up empty-handed. Aye, he’d been so drunk yesterday, he could have promised to take her to the moon and ‘twould not have surprised him. Unable to fault her for his own behavior, he came and sat next to the fire. “Why are ye goin’ there?”

Grabbing the small bundle of cloth that held dried beef, she took a long time to answer. “Me mother passed away a year ago,” she told him.

“I be sorry fer your loss,” he replied sadly. Ronna Coultier may have been a whore, but she was still Rianna’s mother. That fact alone afforded her some measure of respect. “But that does not explain why you are going to Allistair.”

“Because that is where my father resides,” she said, looking him directly in the eye.

Astounded, he laughed. “Yer father?”

“Aye, my father.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Now, the last I remember,” he said as he leaned back onto his elbows, “yer father was some king from the east, was he nae?”

She did not appreciate his attempt at humor. Angrily, she tossed him the bundle of dried beef, which landed in his lap.

“No, wait! That is nae true. He was a duke, from southern England. Or was he an earl from Ireland?” In the short months he’d known her as a child, her mother had told many tales about who Rianna’s real father was. Each one was more unbelievable than the last.

She pursed her lips into a hard line as her bright green eyes grew dark. “On her deathbed she finally confessed my father’s true identity.”

“On her death bed, ye say?” he asked incredulously. “Well, then it must be the truth!”

“Of course it is, ye daft fool!” she spat at him. “Everyone kens a person does nae lie when they ken they are about to die.”

Aiden snorted derisively. “And how many people have ye watched die, lass?”

lilacs

* * *

“
I
t matters nae
. The fact remains she finally told me the truth,” she replied angrily. Aye, ’twas true her mother had lied to her countless times over the years. It finally got to the point that Rianna quit asking.

In a low, shameful whisper, she told him what had transpired on the eve of her mother’s death. As Ronna lay dying, knowing full well the end was nigh, she told Rianna her father was Lachlan MacAllistair, one of the many cousins to the chief of the MacAllistair clan. He had been a married man when Ronna met him and fell in love. But once he had learned she was with child, he tossed them out of the keep as if they were as disgusting as the contents of a chamber pot. Ronna spent the next years of her life trying to find someone she could love as much as she loved Lachlan. She never did. “So it matters nae how many people I’ve watched die. Me mother finally confessed.”

“It
does
matter,” he replied. “Ye be headin’ to a keep ye’ve ne’er laid eyes upon, to a man ye’ve ne’er met, in the hopes he’ll claim ye after all these many years.”

Although he was speaking the truth, it did nothing to ease the ache in her heart. “Ye forget that I
have
met him.”

A sorrowful sigh passed his lips. “Ye only
think
ye’ve met him. What if that be nae true?”

“It matters nae. He be me father. I cannae explain how I know it but I do.” She took in a deep breath, knowing full well she sounded daft. “My heart tells me there is a good chance he too has changed after all these years. He might regret his decision to toss us aside.” ’Twas the one thing she’d been holding on to for the past year. The one thing that kept her moving forward on her quest to find him.

Aiden took a bite of the dried beef. “It could also be he has a dozen other cast-off children waitin’ for his blessin’ and his last name. Or he could be remarried five times over, with dozens of legitimate children who will fight you to the bitter end. Or he could be dead.”

“Do ye nae think I have nae thought of that before?” she asked as she poked a stick at the fire.

“Apparently ye have nae thought it enough,” he replied, taking another bite. “Or ye would nae be out here in the middle of nowhere with a man who is all but a stranger to ye.”

I have fought my way across Scotland for the past year. I’ll no stop now, when I be only a few short days away from Lachlan MacAllistair.

“I will nae give up,” she told him pointedly. “I do nae care if he wants me or no’.
I
want to see the man who fathered me.”

* * *

W
hen he saw
the hurt in her eyes, guilt bubbled to the surface. It was a long buried emotion and one he could ill afford to feel. Guilt, compassion, devotion toward another being were the things that could get a man killed. Still, try as he might, he could not help but feel sorry for the young woman, as well as question her soundness of mind. Why on earth would she want to see a man who had caused her so much pain and anguish? He’d rather be gutted than ever lay eyes on his own father again.

Chances were good that this Lachlan MacAllistair fellow wanted nothing to do with her. Why would she pursue it, knowing that?

“I will nae take ye,” he told her. The last thing he wanted was to witness her being turned away by the man who was supposedly her father. Or, worse yet, learn her mother had lied on her deathbed.

“But ye promised!” she argued.

“Ye can nae hold me to somethin’ I said whilst drunk, lass.”

Shooting to her feet, she glared at him. “’Twas nae a promise ye made whilst drunk.”

A memory from childhood rushed to the front of his mind. That cold day when she’d come to tell him they were moving again. The promise he had made to always be her champion and to someday help her find her father. “Ye cannae be serious.”

With her hands balled into fists, resting on her hips, she looked mad enough to bite through his sword. “I am. Ye made a promise and I mean to see that ye keep it.”

Slowly, he set the dried beef aside, wiped his hands on his mud-caked trews and looked up at her. “I will do nae such thing.”

“Why nae?” she demanded.

He could not very well explain to her the real reason; he didn’t want to see her hurt. “Because I dunnae want to.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “That is nae a good reason.”

“’Tis as good a reason as any,” he told her as politely as he could manage. “I’ll nae be takin’ ye.”

Angrily, she picked up her blanket and her bundle. “Verra well,” she said through gritted teeth. “I no longer desire your help. I will get there on my own.”

Stomping away from the camp, back toward the stream, she left Aiden Macgullane alone.

Was she completely mad? Did she fully intend on walking the rest of the way alone, without escort or weapon? There could be highwaymen and brigands all about these parts. What if she came upon them or they her? ’Twas doubtful she could defend herself against one man, let alone a band of them.

Why should he care what happened to her? If she were set upon by such men, she would have no one but herself to blame. She was allowing her anger and that deep-seated need to know who her real father was to propel her forward. ’Twas not common sense that guided her. A fool should pay the price for their own actions. Isn’t that what he’d been taught?