The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (7 page)

Wrinkling her nose, she grumbled, “Ach, ye need a bath, the lot of ye. Ye reek of the dungeon and ‘tis nigh unbearable.”

Alec merely laughed as she retreated to a tree outside the circle of firelight, and leaning against the trunk, she settled back into her cloak and watched Ewan from the corner of her eye. 
She had yet to see him bestow a smile. The changes in him were worrisome, and she wondered what misfortunes had befallen him to transform him so.

Misfortunes of battle? 
Misfortunes of … love?

Aye, ‘twas the last she found more bothersome.

For a time, she pondered them both, but gradually exhaustion overcame her, and closing her eyes at last, she let the soft rustling of the leaves carry her off to sleep.

The night was a fitful one, and she was relieved when the dull glow of dawn finally crept over the horizon.

Rising to her feet in the clean and crisp morning air, Merry glanced around and saw that she was alone except for Alec still crouched next to the fire, looking as if he hadn’t moved all night.

“And a braw morning to ye, lad,” he greeted her with a grin, running his hands through his chestnut hair to leave it stand on end.

It was strangely charming.

She paused.

She hadn’t taken the time to notice before, but the man was handsome. Strongly built with bright green eyes and a cleft in his chin, he was the essence of a rugged highlander.

And then realizing she was staring, Merry quickly turned away.

“Not keen to wake, are ye?” Alec said with a laugh.

Astonished at herself, she grunted a wordless response and stooped to retrieve her cloak from the ground.

Just when had men become so fascinating? 
Many a lad had tried to capture her eye in the past few years, but she hadn’t felt her heart flutter in response. Not once.

But upon seeing Ewan again, matters had changed.

Merry frowned, wondering if she should hie herself back to Scotland as fast as Diabhul could carry her, and with a quickened step, she headed to the river to wash the sleep from her eyes.

Brushing thoughts of men aside, she glanced up into the blue sky above. The morning was indeed a fine one, and the day promised to be warm.

Breathing deep, she enjoyed the pleasing fragrance of late-spring lavender, and walking along the riverbank, stumbled upon a pool hidden under the weeping branches of an ancient willow. Slipping a little on the moss-covered stones, she knelt at its edge. 
The water was inviting, reflecting the deep blue sky above like a mirror, and she sighed, half-tempted to slip into the coolness to scrub the grime of the past week away.

She cupped her hands, and filling them with the cool water, took a sip.

And then promptly choked.

Spewing water in all directions, she caught sight of bare-chested men in the pool’s surface, and whirling, saw Ewan emerge from the grove behind them. He was unlacing his shirt.

“Into the water with ye, lads, both ye and your plaids, and be quick,” he ordered his men crisply. “They’ll know ye escaped from the dungeons by the mere stench.”

Merry cleared her throat as the men brushed past her, some walking out of their plaids on their way to the river, others jumping into the water fully-clothed, and still a few, gingerly testing the chill with their toes.

Hastily glancing away, she stood and turned only to collide straight into Alec, who was shrugging out of his shirt.

“’Tis time to wash up, lad,” he said, shaking his reddish-brown hair from his naked shoulders. And then nodding at several of the men splashing in the water behind him, he added, “Sean and Dubh arrived in the dead of night. And Robert, there, too. Ho, lads, allow me to present ye to our rescuer! Oh, aye, there’s Jamie and Ian as well.”

As Alec shouted their names, the men raised their arms in greeting.

There was Aidan, a mild-tempered, soft-spoken man whose age was hard to determine, and Lothar, a rugged Frank who hardly ever spoke a word.

And then Ewan was there, pulling his shirt over his head, and it was impossible to pay heed to anyone else.

Aye, she’d thought Alec a handsome man with a rough charm, but a bare-chested Ewan could be described as nothing short of magnificent. And his chest was everything she’d imagined it would be, broad, hard, and with muscles carved of iron.

‘Twas impossible not to stand there and to simply gape at the man’s beauty.

Flaxen-haired, lean, and long of limb, he moved with confidence and ease, yet there was a hint of a wildness about him that made her scarcely able to breathe.

As she watched, he tossed his shirt onto the grass. And then unbuckling his sword, he glanced over at her and ordered curtly, “Into the water, lad.”

Merry drew back sharply. “Water? Nay, I’ll not be bathing with the lot of ye.”

She cleared her throat. To be surrounded by a dozen or so highlanders in various states of undress was all a wee bit disconcerting, and she felt her cheeks turning pink.

“And why is that?” Ewan was asking. “Ye stink as badly as the rest.”

Why was the man so perpetually insulting? 
Outraged, her mouth gaped open. “I think not! And I’ll not be ordered about by the likes of ye, Ewan MacLean!”

He raised a cool brow, clearly unused to his orders being challenged.

“Be ye pock-marked?” Alec interrupted curiously. “’Tis of no concern to us, lad.”

“Aye,” said one of the men in the river. “I’ve what some call the Devil’s Mark.” And he pointed to a large scarlet birthmark which covered his shoulder blade.

They were watching her, all of them. 
Flustered, she said the first thing that came to mind. “’Tis … ‘tis a vow.”

Most of the men lost interest then, but Alec’s curiosity only grew. “A holy vow?” he asked. “Do ye—”

But Ewan cut him short. “Leave the lad be,” he said, casting a wary eye about. “Into the water with ye, Alec Montgomery, and be quick now. We shouldna tarry long.”

Flashing his customary grin, Alec launched his plaid into the water and dove after it. And for a brief moment, Merry caught a glimpse of his buttocks.

Hastily, she averted her gaze and turned yet again, only to see Ewan’s plaid fall away leaving him grandly naked.

“Ye can stand watch, lad,” he said, grimly staring down at her.

She felt the tips of her ears burn, and it was fair difficult to keep her eyes focused on his face.

“Aye,” she agreed in a gargled voice. “I’ll stand watch.”

He turned, and she did allow her eyes to rove over him then, over his bare arms knotted with muscle, his lean hips, and honed legs.

And with a flash of privately wicked humor, she muttered under her breath, “Aye, I’ll stand watch. ‘Tis a duty that must be endured.”

“’Tis a pleasant shock of chill!” Alec called, flapping his hands in the river. “Ye dinna know what you’re missing by keeping to your vow, lad!”

“Let the lad be,” Ewan warned again.

He stood waist deep in the shallows, kneading his wide bare shoulders. The bands of muscle flexed in his arms as he splashed the water over his shoulders.

Merry swallowed a sigh.

The man’s every movement was filled with power and elegance, and even though the morning was quite warm, she shivered. 
Swiftly checking her cheeks with the back of her hands, she sighed at herself. Aye, she was blushing. ‘Twouldn’t do.

She stood on alert then, watching for any signs of enemies as the men bathed and washed their plaids. But there was nothing, save the occasional call of a bird mingled with the men’s raucous jests and laughter.

“My boots,” Ewan’s voice suddenly ordered.

Casting an involuntary glance in his direction, she saw that he’d emerged from the water. With his plaid draped low on his hips and his wet shirt tight across his shoulders, he was even more seductively overpowering than before.

“My boots,” he repeated, and pointed next to her feet. “Toss them here, aye?”

Why was the man so keenly distracting? He was just a man. And she’d seen men with muscles before. 
Her eyes flitted over him, admiring the way the droplets of water ran down his shoulders, over the brawny, gleaming mass of sculpted chest.

And then she glanced up into his eyes.

He was observing her with an unnervingly steady gaze. “Boots?” he asked yet again, raising a brow.

Hurriedly, she reached down and grasped the boots. Ach, his feet were large, much larger than her own.

Ewan made a sound of impatience, causing her to fumble and a boot slipped through her fingers.

“Do ye have butter on your fingers, lad?” Alec laughed.

But Merry scarcely paid heed. For a moment, she was torn with the desire to tell Ewan who she truly was.

Would he be angry?

She glanced up, searching his face and licking her suddenly dry lips.

His gaze dropped, lingering a moment upon her mouth, but then a moment later she saw his lips move in a ”Sweet Mary!” before he turned away, waving a dismissing hand.

He was so cold. So removed.

Annoyed, Merry launched a boot at his head. “Ach, but you’re an ungrateful oaf,” she snapped.

The boot fell ridiculously short of its mark.

“Ach, ye throw like a lass,” Alec teased.

“The sun was in my eyes,” Merry retorted, kicking the remaining boot in Ewan’s general direction before rounding on Alec. “And do ye ever do naught but blather, ye addlepated numbskull?”

Laughter filled the air with Alec’s among the loudest.

But Ewan interrupted them in a cold, even tone. “’Tis time we ride. All ye break your fast and be quick about it, or ye’ll be left behind.”

Draping his plaid over his shoulder, he pushed past them all and disappeared under the trees.

“Uncommon cruel he is,” Alec said in jest, joining Merry to clap her companionably on the shoulder. “Let’s go, shall we, lad?”

They returned to the camp, and after a hurried breakfast of half-burnt fish and ale—that set Merry to longing for her usual fare in Dunvegan of oatcakes, honeyed almonds, and mutton—they saddled their horses and left Sowerby Wood behind them.

They rode hard, skirting Carlisle to the south, and for a time, saw nothing else alive save the occasional hawk in the sky. 
Ewan rode with ease in the saddle, pausing once or twice to either send a scout ahead or to issue a brusque command to alter course. And by midafternoon, they were turning north once more.

Merry reveled to be once again upon Diabhul’s back with the wind ruffling her hair. Once or twice, she thought to let the black horse stretch his legs, but, in a commanding voice that sliced the air like a dagger, Ewan called her back, ordering her to stay behind the others.

“And why do ye wish to run off anyway?” Alec asked, spying her darkened scowl.

“There’s no harm in it,” Merry disagreed sourly.

“Truly?” he asked, bemused. “Hard riding makes for an endless, tedious aching of the joints.”

She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t prevent a smile. The man was charming.

As the afternoon waned, clouds gathered, and shortly after, a steady rain began to fall. It was a cold rain, one that made Merry dream of a toasty fire and blankets aplenty and suddenly, she was more than willing to be off the back of a horse.

For a time, they took a smaller road winding through the forest and as the rain turned into a drizzle, they stumbled upon an abandoned thatch-roofed cottage in ill repair. The thickets surrounding it were overgrown but broken near the ground, and the dirt nearby was covered in tracks. Animal tracks.

She wasn’t the only one to take note.

“There,” Alec pointed to the droppings and the broken branches. “‘Tis a boar. A small one from the looks of it but enough to feed us all.”

They all looked at Ewan, hopeful.

“Aye,” he agreed with a curt nod. “But be quick.”

Alec didn’t need to be told twice. As one of the men tossed him a bow, several others dismounted, preparing to join the hunt.

Merry held out her hand. A drop of rain fell on her palm. Most likely, it would be pouring soon. 
Sliding from Diabhul’s back, she caught up her bow and volunteered. “I’ll go with ye, Alec. ‘Twill be quicker with another archer.”

“And you’re such a fine hunter?” he asked, his green eyes sweeping her up and down in outright disbelief. “You dinna have any strength in those feeble fists of yours.”

“’Tis
skill
that is needed, ye oaf.” Merry rolled her eyes.

“Silence!” Ewan interrupted then, motioning to his men. “We’ll break into three parties. Two hunting, the remainder stay here.”

As Merry stepped forward to join Alec, a crash of thunder rent the air, followed by a gust of wind. And as Ewan and another fell into step beside them, the four set off in a westerly direction as the other hunting party took the opposite path.

They’d scarcely gone more than a dozen paces when a brace of hares darted across their path. And before Alec had scarcely lifted his bow, Merry had let loose two arrows.

“At least we’ll not return empty-handed,” Ewan said, lifting an impressed brow.

“Good shot, lad,” Alec remarked, clearing his throat. “I didna shoot as I’m only after the boar.”

The other man guffawed at that, and Alec merely answered with a good-natured quirk of the lips.

They continued following the tracks for a time, pausing at intervals to listen. And then from the corner of her eye, a tan blur flashed by.

Merry whirled, but Ewan caught her arm. “Stay your hand,” he said, “’Tis the king’s deer.”

They watched the stag bound away in silence.

And then Merry heard it. 
The soft grunts of a wild boar rooting in the leaves in search of food.

“I dinna—” Alec began.

“Hssst!” Merry scowled, notching an arrow on the string. “Listen.”

They strained forward, listening, but heard nothing.

Merry sent Alec a dark look and whispered, “Let’s move to the west, but have a care, will ye? Ye make such a racket the game have all gone, most likely.”

“I’m only breathing, ye master huntsman.” Alec bristled a bit. “Do ye want me to stop breathing?”