Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (5 page)

Rachel closed her fingers over the warm weight of the dragon amulet and stared at Liam. The moon was hiding again, but the darkness did nothing to diminish the intensity of his eyes. It was his eyes that had pulled at her soul from the first moment she'd met him. Indeed, it was his eyes that had made her act the fool time and again. But no more.

"You think to join me on my journey?" she asked. Haughtiness was her right by birth. She had honed it at King James's court and was not above using it like a well-sharpened dagger when the situation warranted. The situation warranted now.

He stared at her, not speaking for a moment, then, "There be safety in numbers."

Not if he were one of the number.

"So you are suddenly worried about your safety?" she queried, making certain her tone was cool. "After spending the better part of two decades traveling alone?"

His eyes again, were as intense as midnight. "Mayhap I'm concerned for
you,"
he said.

"Me?" She couldn't help but laugh, for she had long ago learned that Liam the Irishman cared about no one but himself. "You're concerned about me? When I am surrounded by Hawk's best guards?"

"Hawk!"

Rachel swore in silence. There was little point in attempting to weave a fine lie if she were only going to ruin the warp moments later. Aye, Liam may be as self-centered as a stone, but he was not as dense as one. Wit, sleight of hand, and a decided lack of morals had ascertained his survival these many years since his mother's death. She would have to watch her tongue or bear the circumstances.

"Davin is the Hawk's man?" Liam asked, taking a step toward her. "I thought he was Dunlock's guard."

"I fear you misunderstood." Actually, she wasn't certain what she'd said, for she was a hideously poor liar. Her cousin Shona had tried to help her in that regard, and for a time Rachel had even tried to gain a bit of knowledge from Liam, the master of lies. But she had been born hopelessly honest. Even her mother, Lady Fiona, who had spent some years in a convent, had a certain flare for creating misconceptions. Rachel had always felt rather cheated that she'd inherited her father's rigid sense of honor.

"So Hawk sent the guards?" Liam asked, holding to the subject like a hound to a bone.

"Aye." It was too short an answer. She knew enough about lying to realize one had to embellish a little while making certain she didn't go too far. She'd just never figured out how to achieve that perfect blend of dishonesty. The truth was so pitifully alluring to her. She wished now she'd never started down this path of dishonesty, but Liam's smug assurance that she had no lover had stirred childish resentments she'd long ago put to rest.

"Why?" Liam asked. "I would have thought your betrothed would have come himself to fetch his bride, or at least sent his own escort. And what of your father? Did he not—"

"Busy." The single word sped from her lips as if it were poison. Haughty she could have managed. But dear God, she was pathetic at being devious.

"What?"

"Father is busy."

"Too busy to see to his only daughter's safety?" Liam canted his head at her as if he could read the truth in her eyes. But that was
her
role, and she resented an amateur like him trying to muddle about in her mind. "That doesn't sound like the Laird Leith I've known. Couldn't he have sent Harlow?

What of the Rogue? Your uncle Roderic has coddled you since the day of your birth. Didn't he send a single man? Bullock or—"

"Hear me, Liam," she interrupted frantically. "Mayhap you have nothing better to do than stand about and discuss the deeds of my family. But that luxury is not mine. If you do not want the dragon amulet I'll simply..." She opened her fingers to distract him by tossing it back into the water, but the dragon's ruby heart was incomparably bright in the moonlight. "I'll just...wear it for a time," she said, and slipped it without a moment's thought around her neck.

The weight felt comfortably right there.

"Against your breast."

"What?" She glanced up, drawn from the dragon's crimson light.

He cleared his throat. "Wear it under your gown. Against your...skin."

She meant to scoff at him, but found she was already slipping the amulet beneath her bodice.

Drawing her hand away with an effort, she turned back to him. "There now," she said, trying to sound casual. "Are you happy, Liam, now that foolishness is finished? Will you be on your way?"

He seemed tense, as if he were fighting a private battle. "I'll go where you go."

"You will not." Frustration spurred through her like a hot lance. It was bad enough that he showed up at all, disturbing her peace, conjuring up a thousand memories best left forgot. But to insist on following her was too much to accept. He would ruin everything. Would... Well, he'd at least find out what a really poor liar she was if he accompanied her. "You are not invited, Liam," she said, steadying her tone. "And I've no idea why you would wish to come."

For a moment he almost seemed to struggle then he grinned, the roguish expression a slash of memories in her mind. "Mayhap I've a wish to see who the Lady Saint has consented to marry—this time."

It was true that she'd been betrothed more than once. But each time something had stopped her, an impending birth, a sick child. Her healing skills were much in demand. It was those skills that gave her both honor and respect in the wild hills of her homeland. They also gave her certain responsibilities that she couldn't ignore simply to be wed. "I'll not accept your company."

"And I'll not have you risking your life."

"Why?"

He straightened as if slapped. "I owe your parents a good deal."

"Then go steal them some priceless gift."

"And allow you to risk your skin to save some..."—he gestured angrily as he searched for words—"nobleman you have not even met."

She opened her mouth to retort but realized his implications suddenly. "I am not going to save anyone," she said. "I go to be with my... beloved."

He remained in silent tension for a moment, then, "Aye. Of course you do," Liam said, and stepped forward. She felt his tension like a rush of tide. "He must be quite the saint himself if you are in such a hurry to see him."

"Aye." She forced out the word. "He is that."

"Then surely you will not mind if I meet him."

"On the contrary. I do mind."

"Why?"

"Because..." Because there was no beloved, and just now she'd rather be pelted with rotten fruit than admit the truth to him. "Because I know you, Liam. You'll do naught but cause trouble."

He stepped closer still. "What kind of trouble?"

"You'll distract... my guards."

"If they're so easily distracted, I suggest you could use another to keep you safe during your travels."

"And ask you to neglect your
duties
just to see to my safety? I couldn't."

"I insist."

"I refuse."

"Then I'll follow along behind. But think of it. I will be at risk, for surely I would be safer in your midst."

Damn him and his shifty Irish ways. "And you think I care, Liam?"

His eyes were as eerie as a cat's in the darkness. "Aye, I do, Rachel. I think you cannot help but care. Even about me."

"You're wrong."

"Then why did you not let the brothers four pummel me?"

"I..." The memory made her feel somewhat sick, the sound of their fists against his flesh. "I didn't realize it was you."

"Now you do," he said. "And now I owe you a kindness. I insist on paying my debt."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he had already turned away and disappeared into the darkness.

Sometime during the night, it began to rain. By morning, the campground was a bog, the men irritable, and the horses testy. The river, already high, was reaching toward them in slate gray waves.

Rachel broke the fast on cold oatcakes inside Davin's tent.

"Time is of the essence," she said, tucking her hands into her oversized sleeves. "You know that as well as I, Davin."

"The river is swollen."

"Swollen!" Liam, never one to be absent simply because he was uninvited, stepped inside the tent and straightened somewhat. "The river is suicide. Surely you're not thinking of crossing here, are you Rachel?" he asked.

"Twould be fastest," she said. She noticed, without meaning to, that he moved with just a little less than his usual catlike grace, that slight stiffness a concession to the beating he had taken the day before. It was said of some that they landed on their feet. But of Liam twas said that he could walk through the rain without getting wet. Luck was his closest companion.

"Fastest. Twould be the fastest way to your death mayhap," Liam countered. "But not the fastest way to reach your destination. By the by," he said, turning toward Davin. "Where does this Laird Dunlock reside?"

"North of here," Rachel answered quickly, though Davin seemed in no hurry to either answer the Irishman or negate her story. "But I fear there is nothing to be done but hasten east and hope for a better crossing."

"There's a ferry some leagues from here, I believe," Liam said.

"Can we reach it by nightfall?"

"Tell me, Rachel, is this rush to be reunited with your betrothed your idea or is it your beloved who is so impatient?"

Rachel felt Davin's dispassionate gaze turn toward her. She stood abruptly. "Tell the men to prepare to ride as soon as possible. We'll travel to the ferry and hope to camp this night on the farside."

By noon Rachel decided that Liam had lied. There probably wasn't a single ferry between them and the Holy Land. Three hours later she didn't care. All she wanted was to curl up somewhere dry and sleep for eternity.

She'd spent the previous night haunted by doubts and nagged by worries. Now she rode hunched miserably over her mare's neck, exhausted, wet, and chafed from the woolen cape that rubbed her raw at her wrists and neck.

Liam, wrapped in a dark cloak, suggested they find shelter and stop until the weather improved, but Rachel was in no mood for a delay. After a quick and miserable meal, they pushed on.

Some hours before dusk, they came to a place where the river narrowed in its twisting course.

Perhaps it would have been a good crossing point at other times, but the wind had begun to rise, keeling from the northwest and causing the river to slap, gray and rough, against the shore.

Davin's dry statement that "twould be as good a way to die as any" was discouraging enough for her to decide to continue on.

They wrapped their cloaks more closely about themselves and hurried eastward. By the time they reached the ferry crossing, the wind was blowing the night upon them. Through the fading light, Rachel saw a humble vessel tied in a shallow port. For a moment she feared that in such weather the ferry driver would have abandoned his post, but he sat, huddled and hooded under a tarp that sagged above a small portion of his vessel.

It was a simple craft with a low, uncertain railing and a rectangular form. Made of a rough-slatted floor and little else, it was attached to a rope that slapped across the turbulent river to the farside, some ninety yards across.

Liam pushed his gelding closer to Rachel's mount. "Mayhap you think twould be better to die than to wed your fat laird," he said. "But for myself, I've things to live for."

Wet, cold, and in no mood for his dubious sense of humor, Rachel turned to him. "Are you trying to tell me something, Liam?"

"Mayhap we should wait till the wind dies down before we attempt to cross," he said, but just at that moment the gale diminished a mite, lulled as if some fractious giant had ceased his blowing.

"Feel free to stay here if you like," she said, and pushed her mare up to Davin.

"Pay the man his fee," she ordered, nodding toward the ferry. "If we hurry we'll still have some daylight left to travel on."

It only took Davin a few moments to conduct business with the hooded man and return. "If you've no wish to swim in these waters, I would suggest we hurry you across whilst the wind is somewhat quiet. There is room for us, a couple others, and the supplies."

She nodded, eager to see the opposite shore.

In only a few minutes their provisions were packed onto the restless vessel. The Norseman helped her onto the ferry. It rocked erratically beneath her feet, and Liam, apparently not caring that he was not invited, hopped on behind her.

Davin, his hood drooping across his forehead, nodded for them to set out. The ferry driver lurched across the deck and untied the vessel.

They launched immediately into the tide. Rachel huddled deeper between two canvas bags and prepared to be seasick. But in moments the wind dropped away completely. The water smoothed, lapping softly against the ferry. Shifting her attention over the bags, she let the sound of the waves soothe her. All would be well. Despite everything, she had made good time; and now that the weather was letting up she would improve upon that. Soon she would reach her destination.

"Eerie," Liam said, standing close beside her.

"What?" She glanced up. His brow was furrowed and his eyes turned sideways toward the approaching shore.

"Don't you feel it?" he hissed.

"Feel what?"

"That—" He stopped, as if fighting for words. "Breathlessness?"

"Whatever are you talking about?" she asked, but suddenly the world did not seem so peaceful.

Instead, it felt as if they were perched on the edge of a precipice.

"Do you feel it, Davin?" Liam asked, not taking his gaze from the shore.

No answer.

"Davin?" Liam said.

The Norseman turned toward him, his face shadowed by his hood as he reached a hand inside his cape.

Liam hissed, then, like a racing steed, he lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into the other.

Knocked off balance, Davin crashed against the railing. It shattered under his immense weight. For a moment, he teetered on the edge then toppled, flailing, over the side.

"Liam!" Rachel gasped, but the Irishman was already lunging past her. She swiveled frantically about, only to see Liam barrel toward the ferry driver.