Warrior's Last Gift (3 page)

C
hapter
F
our

Work through it
, Jeanne’s mother had always told her. And so she would, even if it meant rising after only a few hours.

Not that she had slept well. Not with
him
lying only a few feet away from her.

She hoisted the heavy kettle of water over the fire and straightened, one hand to her aching back. Her legs trembled with the exertion but she was determined to keep moving. Work would keep her mind busy, and a busy mind was the only way to keep
him
out of her thoughts.

As if it were beyond her ability to control, she glanced to where Eric slept. Apparently he’d tired himself out in yesterday’s arduous trek, which, she had no doubt, he’d hoped would convince her to turn back.

She smiled to herself and dumped oats into the bubbling water, letting the aroma bathe her face with its steamy goodness.

Eric had seriously underestimated her. Nothing would prevent her setting that little boat out to sea. After all she’d been through in the past year and a half, she’d grown strong enough to face any hardship.

She dropped a handful of dried herbs and berries into the pot and stirred, her gaze drawn once again to the other side of the fire. Even still, the sight of Eric lying there tugged at her heart and stoked a fire low in her belly.

It was more than just how strong and handsome he was. It was the memory of his former kindness, his tenderness, the feel of his hands on her bare skin . . .

“Oh, pardie!” she whispered, turning her full attention back to the bubbling pot.

She could
not
do this to herself.

Eric was also stubborn to a fault, and so dedicated to his work that nothing and no one—certainly not she!—could ever compete with his service to his laird.

Again she dipped her head over the pot, breathing in the aromatic steam, forcing away the tormenting thoughts of what might have been.

•   •   •

The savory aroma of porridge awoke him. Eric stretched under the weight of the woolens and furs that covered him and turned on his side to watch Jeanne bustling around the fire pit.

That she’d managed to get the fire going and cooking started without waking him was proof of his inability to get a decent rest last night, in spite of his exhaustion. He could thank her for that.

She leaned over the pot she stirred, inhaling the steam as it wafted up to bathe her face, heating her cheeks with a rosy glow.

He remembered another time he’d watched her do the same thing. His memory transported him from a cold winter’s morn to a warm summer’s eve. He had been responsible for the glow in her cheeks that evening. She’d cooked for him, wearing nothing but a flimsy shift that had later fallen from her shoulders at the urging of his eager fingers.

Those fingers trembled now as he scrubbed them over his face. He would not go there again. He couldn’t allow his mind to wander down such a painful path.

“You should have wakened me,” he growled, throwing back his covers.

Jeanne gasped and dropped her spurtle into the pot, as if she’d completely forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“Oh, bother,” she muttered, plunging her fingers into the pot to retrieve the utensil and hissing as the hot porridge enveloped her skin.

“By all that’s holy!” Eric was on his feet and at her side in an instant. “What were you thinking, woman? You’ve burned yerself for sure.”

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, lifting the injured fingers to her lips.

Grabbing her around the waist, he hoisted her from her feet and carried her the short distance to the stream, forcing her hand into the icy water despite her protests.

As he held her close, the dizzying scent of herbs filled his nose, and memories washed over him. How often had he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her body to his? So many times, yet not nearly enough.

Their eyes locked and her lips parted in a breathy little sound, as her tongue darted nervously over her soft, full lips.

“My porridge will burn,” she whispered, breaking the spell he felt had taken him.

“Better yer porridge than yer flesh,” he managed, releasing his hold on her.

She hurried away from him and he leaned down, lifting the cold water with trembling hands to splash over his face. Damn him for the fool he was. Even after all she’d done, he wanted her still.

He dragged the edge of his plaid across his eyes and rose to his feet, his feelings pushed back into the depths of his soul, where they belonged.

What had passed between them just now meant nothing. It had been only a momentary weakness, brought on by his exhaustion and having her so close to him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. From now on, he’d keep his hands to himself and the Fates could deal with Jeanne.

“Best you get that food served up so we can be on our way. We’ve another long day ahead of us. Unless . . .” He turned to fix her with a stare. “If you’ll but admit the folly of yer quest, you could be in yer own bed at Castle MacGahan this very night.”

The scathing look Jeanne cast his direction was all the answer he needed. Not that he’d truly expected her to change her mind now. Not after the punishment she’d taken without protest yesterday.

Wordlessly, she broke a chunk of bread from the loaf she held and handed it to him before setting the pot of porridge between them.

They ate in silence, giving his mind too much rein to wander through memories of past meals they’d shared. Memories of the banter, the laughter, the love he was so sure he’d seen in her eyes.

“Fool,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the remains of his bread into the trees as he stood.

“Pardon?” She looked up, startled, as if her thoughts had been as far away as his.

“We’re wasting light,” he grumbled, more bothered than he wanted to admit by the memories swarming thickly around his head. Memories he’d thought buried and gone after all this time.

She followed his lead and began clearing the remains of their camp. In a short time, they were packed up and ready to be on their way once again.

Jeanne stood beside her mount, hands clenching her reins, her chin lifted in resolve like a warrior preparing for her first battle.

Eric’s resolve to keep his hands to himself melted as if he’d never made the vow and he strode to her side to grasp her waist and lift her to her saddle.

Her breath caught in a little gasp, a sound he remembered all too well. A sound that filled his traitorous body with need and wanting.

He jerked his hands away the moment she was in her saddle and returned to his mount.

If he couldn’t convince her to abandon her foolish quest, he had no choice but to get her to the sea and back home again in what was shaping up to be the hardest journey of his life.

•   •   •

Jeanne had tried to put Eric from her mind. Tried to ignore his presence. But when he touched her, by the saints, it set her heart pounding and her whole body buzzed with a frenzy of excitement.

Staring at his back, she lifted a hand to her cheek, hot again with the thought of his hands upon her as she’d mounted her horse, though that had been many hours past. And when he’d carried her to the stream this morning to plunge her burning fingers into the icy waters, it had taken all her strength not to fasten her mouth upon his and claim him for her own.

Only he wasn’t her own, a fact he had made abundantly clear to her.

Truly, she suspected she was losing what few wits she had left. To harbor such feelings for the man who’d rejected her was the height of foolishness.

And yet, what she wouldn’t give to hear him speak her name.

“Stay close and keep a wary eye.”

His voice was so low, she thought for a moment she’d imagined him speaking.

“There’s someone on the trail, coming toward us.”

In almost two full days of travel this was the first person they’d seen and, from Eric’s tone, it sounded as though he was none too pleased.

Jeanne craned her neck to see around her companion, spotting the figure ahead, arm raised in greeting.

“He looks to be friendly enough,” she offered. “And much smaller than you.”

“Aye. Mayhap he’s also bait to draw us into a trap.”

Eric drew up on his horse’s reins, dropping back beside her, surprising her when he touched her hand. He surprised her even more when she saw that he held a wicked-looking dagger in the hand that lay over hers.

“Take this.” He pulled the hem of her cloak over her hand, concealing the weapon. “Keep it at the ready.”

“Surely yer being overly cautious,” she scoffed.

“Better overly cautious than overly dead,” he responded darkly, returning to his spot ahead of her. “If the need arises, head for the woods. You’ll be harder to find there.”

Fear knotted in Jeanne’s stomach. Not until they drew close enough to see the traveler’s face did she relax.

“He’s naught but a lad,” she said.

“A weapon’s no particular about the age of the one who wields it. Stay on yer guard, Jeanne.”

Eric could well be right, but the boy looked harmless enough to her. Harmless and cold dressed in those thin clothes, with not even a fur to protect him.

“Aho,” the boy called out with a grin as they reached him. “A fair gift it is to see fellow travelers on the road! I’m Dobbie Caskie.” The boy lifted a hand in greeting toward Eric.

Eric simply stared at the boy until he let the hand drop back to his side.

“I dinna suppose you’d consider sharing yer fire and an extra portion of food this night?” The boy licked his lips, his eyes darting from Eric to Jeanne and back again.

“No,” Eric answered.

“We most certainly would,” Jeanne corrected, ignoring Eric’s head snapping around in her direction.

The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, and he looked to be freezing out here all by himself. Sharing their fire and food for the evening was the least they could do to help him.

“Thank you, my lady. It’s no charity I’m asking. I’m willing to work for it. I can help set up yer camp and gather wood for you. Whatever you need.”

“And work for it you will, my young friend,” Eric promised, glaring at Jeanne, leaving her no doubt she’d be hearing about this later.

•   •   •

“It’s a mistake we make, taking that one in.” Eric glared at her as he took the pail of water from her hand and turned back to their campsite. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yer brainsick,” Jeanne replied. “And heartless, too, if you think to turn away a slip of a lad who needs our help. Shame on you for letting yer unfounded suspicions rule you.”

With a sharp nod of her head, she pushed in front of him and hurried back toward the fire, where their young guest was finishing his meal.

“This is so good.” Dobbie looked up from his porridge as they neared and he cast a hopeful eye toward the pot.

Considering how much of the setup work he’d done when they reached this site, Jeanne felt he’d more than earned his meal.

“There’s more. Help yerself, lad.” She smiled to encourage him, but clearly, he didn’t need her encouragement. The boy acted as if he were half starved.

“What are you doing out here traveling all by yerself?” Eric sat apart from them, a frown fixed between his brows. “With no pack and no provisions of yer own?”

“I’m on my way to Skye,” the boy answered around a mouthful of bread. “To my mam’s folk, the MacCabes. With both my mam and da gone, it seemed the best thing to do. I had food in the beginning, but no enough to last the whole of my trip.”

Jeanne’s heart went out to the boy. “Then it’s good fortune indeed that our paths crossed.”

“Aye.” Dobbie nodded his head vigorously up and down, his eyes wide. “And thankful I am, too. I’ve heard tell of thieves who travel these trails. Men who will take yer animals and yer provisions.”

“And yer life, if yer no so careful,” Eric added.

“Aye.” Dobbie nodded in agreement. “A man must be careful about who he chooses to trust when he’s out on the road.”

To Jeanne’s way of thinking, a boy needed to be even more careful. “Yer welcome to accompany us for as long as our paths are the same,” Jeanne offered.

“And how would you envision that will work?” Eric’s glare turned in her direction again. “We’re mounted and he’s afoot. He canna run the whole day and we canna afford to slow down to his pace.”

She hadn’t really thought about it before offering; she only knew that Dobbie needed their help. “The lad can ride upon my horse with me. The extra weight canna make that much of a difference in our progress.”

Eric shook his head in clear disgust as he downed the last of his drink. “Best we get some rest then. We’ll need an early start if we’re to be moving slower on the morrow.”

He spread his bedroll and lay down, pulling his woolen up over his head, clearly done with them.

Obstinate, heartless man!

Dobbie finished his food and then assisted Jeanne in packing their belongings in preparation to turn in for the night. He was so eager to be helpful, she hadn’t the heart to correct the way he’d stuffed things into their bags. She could easily sort it all out in the morning when she fixed their next meal.

When they were done, Dobbie lay down next to the embers of their fire with nothing for bedding but the plaid he wore.

“Here,” she said, spreading her fur over him. “I’ve more woolens than I need to keep me warm. You take this.”

The boy’s grateful smile as he drew the fur tightly around him was all the thanks Jeanne needed to keep her warm. If her son had ended up on his own in the world, she could only pray someone would have shown similar mercies to him.

A familiar pain tightened around her heart as she pulled her covers up to her chin. Her son, born months too early, would never suffer as this boy did. Her son lay in the arms of the angels and, with the path she’d chosen in life, she wasn’t likely to ever have another.

She stared up at the twinkling lights in the dark sky and knew sleep wouldn’t come any easier this night than it had on the last.

•   •   •

Jeanne awoke with a start, a sense of dread weighing her down. Likely it was no more than the sorrow on her mind when she’d finally drifted off to sleep or perhaps a bad dream. She pushed up to one elbow and looked across the embers of the fire to see the spot where the boy had slept was empty.