The Runaway Highlander (The Highland Renegades Book 2) (10 page)

“We’re just outside Belford.” Broc kept hold of her and hooked her arm around his. “Almost a day’s ride from Berwick.”

Belford. Belford. The name was so unfamiliar to Anne, it took her a moment to realize why.

“England?” Her voice carried more than she’d expected and several of the men moving around them stopped to stare.

Broccin pulled her away from the crowd of milling people. “Anne, you mustn’t draw attention to yourself. No one knows I’ve brought a woman here, save the few who were with you in the cart, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Why does it matter?”

He shifted uneasily. “Because this is a war camp, and typically when women are present in a war camp, it’s not for protection.”

“A war camp?”

“Yes.”

“We are at war with England?”

“As much as we can be when we have no central authority to declare it, but, yes. There are a few groups of us, fighting against the English, and Andrew thought to unite us.” Broc walked her around the cart and she saw they were parked on the edge of a hill that ran down the left side of the cart and into a tiny valley, the hillside dotted with tents and fires and men sleeping on the ground and on pallets. More men than she could count.

“We will only be here until sunrise
tomorrow, when the last of the group will return, then we’ll move camp again.”

“Why?” Anne pulled on Broc’s arm and he allowed her to lead him back to the other side of the cart where she leaned against one of the big wheels. The soreness from her ride was beginning to kick in and it exacerbated the pounding in her head. Looking down the hill had almost been too much.

“We try not to stay in the same place for long. We know the English are looking for us, so we try to be as ghostly as we are able.”

“But why camp in England, then?
What about soldiers stationed at Belford, or even those at Berwick or Lowich?”

Broc laughed and patted her back
like a child. “There are even more English soldiers in the Scottish countryside than here, my lady. We are almost unmolested here.”

“Yet, still, you move.”

“Nowhere is completely safe for us.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic. Still, the thought of being a day closer to England than she’d been when she woke up in her mother’s clutches made Anne nervous.

“I can relate to that.”

Someone called Broccin’s name and he hurried to the end of the cart and raised his hand. He gestured to Anne to follow him and she made slower progress.

“Andrew calls me down to the fire.” Broccin held out his arm for her, watching her feet carefully. “You must be cold. Why don’t you accompany me?”

She grasped his arm and held him in place with her. “Could I speak to you for a moment first
?”

At the end of the cart, Anne found not only Broc but
Lachlan and two other men, all staring at her with expectant eyes, all silent. How keen.

“Can it wait until I see what Andrew needs? He was wounded in the skirmish and I’d like to assure that someone is caring for him.”

“I will wait here.” Anne placed her right hand on the cart and even the wood was cold beneath her fingers. She couldn’t deny, she’d rather sit by the fire, but she worried that if she allowed Broc to take her down into civilization, she would be forced to speak with him where others might overhear.

There would be nothing worse than asking a man to marry you in front of other people. It would be bad enough just in front of him, little as she knew him anymore. But short of a marriage, there was no way she could imagine she would be able to convince him to return for Elena.

Broc’s uneasy stance set the other men to shifting, as though the emotion were contagious. Finally, he nodded. Broccin released her arm and instead grabbed Lachlan’s shoulders and assisted the man in following him.

Anne noticed there were still men sleeping, or dead, in the back of the cart, so she walked to the front wheel and used it as a ladder to climb up into the driving seat. The horses were tied to a nearby tree that looked steady enough. She reached in the back for her blanket and laid down on the bench seat.

She could have sworn she only closed her eyes for a moment, but when Broc woke her, the light had come up significantly and the horses had been unhitched from the cart and were out of sight.

“I’m sorry to leave you for so long.” Broc put a big hand on her shoulder and his face was so close, she could smell the grassy, sweaty scent of him.

“I didn’t even know I’d slept.” She rolled around to sit up and accidentally scooted even closer to him. Broccin backed up to avoid contact and as she straightened in her seat, Anne could feel the heat rising in her face.

“For several more hours. I’m sure it was good rest, and we’ll be here the rest of the day, as it is. Although now I have a more comfortable place for you to sleep.”
Broccin offered her his hand and she took it, stepping down from her seat. The black horizon had taken on a blue tinge and the air was slightly warmer.

“I’ve made a bed for you in Elizabeth’s tent.”

“Elizabeth?” Anne wondered, securing her skirts around her.

“Andrew’s wife. She’s in camp with us and you’ll be safe with her.” Broc smiled and she remembered for a moment how handsome he really was.

“I feel safer with you.”

He shifted with discomfort. “Anne, I am happy to do whatever I can for an old friend. But I am no woman. Here, it is better for you to be with Elizabeth.”

“I hate to impose upon you further, after you’ve done so much for me,” she began. Broc stopped her with a raised hand and she couldn’t help smiling. He was nothing if not a humble man. Not the proud type, like others she knew. Like her brother. Or like Broc’s father, or younger brother, Malcolm. Or like Aedan. Proud men carried themselves with a certain something in their shoulders. Broc was certainly strong, like a warrior, but he didn’t have that arrogance.

The more she thought well of him, the more she could imagine being his wife. If she had known what her mother would do, given the title and income of the earldom,
she may have married Broc when she’d turned fourteen, as her father had encouraged. But he’d been only seventeen himself, and it hadn’t been long after that his father had gone completely mad.

Knowing the old Earl as she did, she was glad not to have him as a father-in-law. Of course, the man was dead now. Anne crossed herself, self-consciously, and Broc smiled at her.

“I can see you having a conversation with yourself inside that head.” He touched a knuckle to her forehead, playfully, and it remained there for a long moment as his gaze held hers. But before she could think of what to say or do, he’d pulled away.

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking of how best to ask this.”

“Please, Anne.” Broc pulled her to face him and held both of her hands at a distance. “We are old friends, and I think of you as I think of my own sisters. Please ask me whatever you would.”

“Very well.” She sucked in a breath and held it. This was her best chance. “You’ve done so much for me already, and you know I am so grateful. But I feel I must ask one more thing of you. I’m sure it won’t be such an imposition, given the circumstances of our families now, and if you want to return to Caithness and become head of your family, I could
hardly stop you from that, although I would certainly support you remaining here and fighting for Scotland, given the sacrifices that all these men have already—”

Broccin squeezed her hands and she looked into his eyes, her mouth open to speak more.

“Anne, I feel I should tell you something before you continue.”

“Please, Broc, just let me finish this. It’s embarrassing enough, as it is, that I have to be the one to—”

“Please, Anne.”

“No, I insist.”

“Anne.”

She shook her head. His earnest face had the wrinkled concern of bad news and she didn’t want to stop talking.

“Anne, I am already married.”

Her hands released his of their own volition. She couldn’t think about his words, they just didn’t seem comprehensible. Already married?

Anne could feel the return of her sister slipping through her fingers and her confusion melted into anger. She fisted her hands in her dress and stormed away from him.

“Married?” she shouted, suddenly not caring if any of the rest of the camp heard her. Why hadn’t she known this? She’d heard that he’d returned to his family for a short time, but who on God’s green earth had he married? Had he fallen for one of the farmer’s daughters? Or perhaps Andrew had a sister? If there had been an alliance with another noble, she would have known about it. Her mother had dragged them off to Edinburgh in the
autumn and the last she knew, he had returned home from his exile to find his brother welcoming him back into the family.

Anne had been equally surprised to hear that he’d been in the Berwick dungeon. But that surprise was nothing compared with the realization that he was married.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Immediately.”

“I thought I had.” Broc’s hand closed around her wrist and he turned her around.
“Lachlan, when I introduced him to you, I thought I mentioned that he was my father-in-law.”

Anne gasped. Lachlan had known Broccin was married? And then watched her throw herself at him? Why hadn’t he said anything, either? What was with these men?

She wrenched her hand from his grip and began to pound on his chest. “How could you do this to me, Broccin Sinclair? You were my last hope to save my sister.”

Tears soaked her cheeks as she beat at him, but he just held out his hands and allowed her to rage at him. She stopped moving and held his gaze with angry eyes. “I should take you back to the dungeons of Berwick for this. That’s it. I take back my rescue.”

“Your rescue?” Broc laughed and took one wrist in his big hand. “I thought I was the one who rescued you.”

“Take it back. In fact, take me back. I never want to see you again.” All the anger and frustration at her mother, at Simon Alcock, at her situation, at Broccin, at his new wife… all of it stuck together into one giant ball of hatred inside, and she pushed at his chest and ran in the opposite direction of the camp.

No one. Once again, no one was there to help her. She collapsed near a little gathering of trees on the edge of a hillside that led down toward the edge of the camp.

Was this to be her lot in life? Was there never to be anyone to help her? She sobbed into her hands until her throat was nearly on fire with raw emotion and the memory of the Sheriff’s hands.

She couldn’t let this happen again. She wouldn’t be the one out of control. She would do something about it herself. If Broccin wouldn’t help her, then she would help herself.

She would find a way to get back to Berwick and get Elena and they would run away by themselves. They didn’t need these renegades for protection. She’d run as far as she could run and find a farmer somewhere who would marry her and keep Elena with her forever and be safe.

This was to be her lot in life. She might as well get started living it.

*****

The camp was fairly spread out, tents pitched among the trees in the little valley. She finally went down on the far side from where the carts and horses were being slowly brought down out of sight. It took several men to lead each of the carts down the steep hill and when Anne saw Broc among them, she knew she had to make her go of it.

First, she’d stopped at the cook fire and seen Lachlan. Instead of avoiding him, as would have been more comfortable, she accepted the offered bowl of porridge and sat on a log next to the old, injured man.

“Do you remember me, girl?” he asked, sipping his breakfast from a carved trencher of bread.

“We met last night.” Anne nodded politely. A few other men sat on logs eating their breakfast, but none she recognized.

“But do you remember me from before that?” His dark eyes were kind and as she looked him over, he smiled. “You may not remember. We met only once, at the old Sinclair’s wedding. You were still a young girl. I have a daughter who’s five or six years older than you are, my dear.”

Anne’s heart thudded. “Is that Broccin’s new wife?” She flushed at her boldness and needed to get a handle on her anger. “Forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to speak so freely.”

“You are quite forgiven, my young girl.” Lachlan bit through his bread and chewed it with relish. “Yes, Kensey is my daughter.”

“I don’t believe I remember her.”

“You were quite young. I wasn’t sure if you would remember or not. But I remember you.” He took another bite of his bread.  “You and your mother and sister share that blonde, Scandinavian coloring that used to be so common here.”

At the mention of her mother, Anne squirmed. “Yes, we seem to be something of an anomaly wherever we go these days.”

“Kensey had never seen anyone with truly blonde hair before. Not the white-blonde kind like yours. She spent most of the day with her fingers in your curls.” The glint in his merry face made her heart warm. This was a father who truly loved his children.