A Highlander's Scars Page 9

“I dinna think going straight to your father’s home would be the best course of action. Ye said it yourself, if Angus knows you’re there, he’ll go after ye.”

  “He shall go either way,” she insisted. “I must be with my Da now.”

  “Nay, lass, and he would see it the same way.” He brought his horse up in front of hers, blocking her way, forcing her to stop and glare at him. “If ye were there, what do ye believe Angus would do to ye? If he were to go north—if, I say, for there is no saying he would for certain—the last place ye need to be is where he could find ye.”

  “My father—”

  “He will know I got ye out of there, will he not? His men will defend him.”

  “What if they cannot?”

  Then I’m glad you are with me and not there, he wanted to say, but held his tongue so as not to sound cruel. He seemed to have a knack for saying just the wrong thing, and if he was not careful, she might run from him.

  “Then there would be nothing for ye to do to help,” Donnan reminded her instead, as gently as was possible, given the grave nature of what they discussed.

  Her eyes went wide, sorrowful, before hardening an instant later. Her jaw tightened, her chin lifted. “I could agree to our marriage, if it meant protecting Da.”

  “I wouldna let ye do that.”

  “You have no say in the matter.”

  “Your father would never allow it, either,” he continued. “Remember, he sent me after ye when he thought ye loved the man. What would he do if he knew ye hated him? Do ye believe he would be in favor of the match then? I think not.”

  Her chin trembled. “I cannot leave him there, without me.”

  “We are not leaving him there, just as we are not leaving the Highlands at the mercy of Clan Cameron, but ye must trust me. Do ye?”

  Their gazes locked and all of the longing she’d already stirred up in his long-empty heart flared brighter, hotter than before. Just then, as her eyes glistened with tears of frustration and fear, he would have moved heaven and earth to dry them.

  He would not allow Angus Cameron to destroy what had taken generations to build, either.

  She simply had to trust him.

  “All right, then,” she nodded. “I trust ye. What choice do I have?”

  It would have to do.

  When they’d continued, she asked, “Where are we going, then?”

  “To see a friend of mine. Perhaps ye know him. Padraig Anderson. He’s the youngest son, but he might convince his brother to be of help to us.”

  Donnan would not have admitted it even to save his life, but he was uncertain of what they could do to put an end to the Cameron plot. Alan Anderson was a strong ally in such a situation, and last Donnan had heard, it seemed Alan he’d taken over the lairdship after his father’s death.

  “His brother?” Fenella shook her head. “I forget you have not been home in so long. Alan Anderson died years ago, and the middle brother wanted nothing to do with being laird. Padraig now leads Clan Anderson.”

  Donnan’s jaw dropped. “I had no idea. It’s a wonder my father never told me, as Padraig and I were close for years.”

  “It’s a wonder ye never thought to send word to your close friend, letting him know ye were alive,” she murmured.

  He gritted his teeth. “I told ye why I didna.”

  “Nay, ye never told me,” she snapped. “Ye said ye would, but we have not spoken of it.”

  He heaved a sigh, knowing she had him dead to rights, and told her about Bronwen. About the wound, the illness. The way the old woman’s sight began to fail, along with her health. How he was all she had, and how it seemed only fitting that he care for her as she’d done for him.

  The only thing he left out was how reluctant he’d been to go out into the world. How convenient it had been, having the excuse of a feeble old woman to prevent him from leaving.

  “Ye did all that?” Fenella asked once he’d finished. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.

  “Aye. Dinna think overmuch of it, lass.”

  “How can I not? Ye made her last days sweeter. Och, I feel I’ve done ye a grave misdeed by speaking so sharply.”

  This was not what he’d expected, and not what he wished. “Dinna make me out to be a better man than I am. I beg ye.”

  “She would have died alone, in the dark, if it were not for ye.”

  “Fenella, I was a coward.”

  She gasped at his admission.

  “I was a coward, too afraid to walk among the rest of the world. I allowed her to hold me back. I used her as an excuse to stay. I might have stopped Ewan from going as far as he did if I’d been man enough to leave her and return home. If I had not left the tent with the other wounded men, I would not have feared anyone coming to punish me for desertion. I’ve been nothing but a coward.”

  And she would hate him for it, he was certain, but that was for the best. He deserved her hatred. Better for the lass to see him for who he was than to believe him noble and fine.

  Her silence only confirmed how she loathed his cowardice. Perhaps it would have been better for her to remain with Angus Cameron, who had likely never known a moment of fear in his life.

  He dismissed this as the height of folly almost the moment he thought it. Creatures such as Angus knew nothing but fear. They merely hid it behind a face they showed the world, and the louder they boasted of their strength, the more of a coward they were.

  War had taught him that, at least.

  Fenella cleared her throat. “I must correct ye on something,” she murmured. “Please, do not be angry with me for it. But ye could no more have stopped Ewan from destroying himself as ye could reverse the river’s flow. Ye must not blame yourself for that.”

  He clenched his jaw, remaining silent.

  “Also,” she continued, a bit braver after he hadn’t shouted her down, “ye did not know what ye were about when ye wandered from the tent. Someone should have stopped ye, but I would wager there were simply not enough people to keep watch on every single man. And there were likely men worse off than ye.”

  “Difficult to imagine,” he grumbled.

  “For the sake of all that’s holy, Donnan Ross!” It came out as a roar, startling his horse and sending the hair along the back of his neck standing straight up. “I have never seen war for myself, but I’m certain there were men far worse off than ye! Men who lost their arms or legs, their eyes, men trampled and unable to walk ever again. Men whose minds went—I’ve heard of them, the ones who lose their tether and go off into their own worlds. How many of them would wish to be in your place? With arms and legs intact, able to walk and run and sit a horse, able to use their wits? How many?”

  He studied her flushed cheeks but remained quiet.

  She snarled. “How many died, Donnan Ross? If there is anything to be ashamed of, let it be of the way ye pity yourself.”

  With that, she rode ahead of him, the horse at a trot.

  “No man or woman talks to me that way!” he shouted, his heels against the horse’s sides that he might catch up to her.

  She let the horse run full-out when she heard him approach, a glance over her shoulder telling her he was close to catching up.

  “Stop! I demand it!” he called out, urging the gelding on to greater speed.

  She merely leaned over the horse’s neck, the animal running faster than ever before taking a bend in the road, vanishing from view. Donnan cursed loudly, wishing the woman were of a milder temperament before taking the bend himself.

  And all but crashing into the rear end of her horse.

  His horse reared, nearly throwing him from the saddle. It was a struggle to remain in place while taking in the sight of several men on horseback who stared Fenella down.

  They were the reason she’d come to an abrupt stop.

  His first inclination was to believe them Camerons, and he was ready to fight to the death to protect her. He’d tell her to run while holding them off if need be.

  A second look a
t the five men told him they were not of the clan. They were of no clan at all—dirty, leering at her and the horse she rode, grinning nastily at each other.

  Thieves? Sellswords?

  “Who are ye?” he demanded, sitting tall once the horse calmed. He brought it alongside Fenella, who at a glance was shaken but unharmed.

  “That’s no affair of yers,” one of the men snarled. “We’re far more interested in who ye are, and what ye have.”

  Thieves.

  “Does it appear as though we have anything?” he asked, eyes moving over the men. His hood allowed him to observe them without their knowing, casting him in shadow as it did.

  The one standing closest to Fenella chuckled. “That depends on what ye mean by not having anything, as it seems to me ye have just plenty right here.”

  Fenella spat on him. And this time, she hit her mark. The man snarled, moving as though to reach up for her.

  Which was when Donnan dropped the hood and allowed them to look upon his face. For once, he enjoyed the expressions of horror and disgust. “Dinna touch the woman, or you’ll have me to answer to,” he snarled.

  The men fell back.

  All except one, who stepped forward.

  Like Donnan, he wore a cloak with a hood.

  A hood which he lowered, blinking slowly as he did.

  Blinking dark eyes so very like Donnan’s.

  Fenella sounded as though she were choking, and Donnan understood why.

  “Ewan?” he whispered, as though he were afraid to believe it.

  14

  Fenella forgot how to breathe. It seemed as though the entire world had tipped on its side, ceasing to make sense.

  It could not be Ewan Ross who stood before them, but her eyes told her it was.

  As did the tears which he blinked back when he recognized his brother. “I canna believe it,” he murmured, his face twisting as confusion and surprise and relief fought for control.

  She would have known him anywhere, the handsome devil. So similar to what Donnan would have looked like were it not for his unfortunate scar.

  Ewan looked about himself. “This is my brother,” he announced, then laughed before breaking out into a wild grin. “My brother is alive.”

  Donnan did not appear quite so overjoyed. When he dismounted, handing the reins to her, the embrace he offered his brother was stilted at best. There was little warmth on his side, while Ewan clapped his older brother on the back and laughed again, deep and rich and full of joy.

  When they parted, Ewan held onto Donnan’s shoulders, keeping him in place. “What happened to ye, man? Who did it? Norwegian scum, no doubt.”

  “’Twas the Norwegians I was fighting,” Donnan snorted.

  Ewan’s wide, bright eyes searched Donnan’s face, his own face a frank expression of glee. “It matters not—above and beyond, now I get to be the handsomer of the two of us, which I never would have claimed to be before.”

  Fenella winced at his poor choice of words as Ewan turned to his… whatever they were. Partners? Her nose wrinkled at the thought of partnering with such a group of miserable, filthy animals like these. They made Angus Cameron look like a gentleman in comparison.

  “My brother was lost to me, and now he’s found,” Ewan announced. “I believe this means a feast is in order.”

  “Nay,” Donnan urged, shaking his head. “We have not the time for a feast.”

  “Why not? I have seen nothing of ye for these many years, and now I wish to make merry in your honor!”

  “For one, it is barely early morning,” Donnan growled. “A bit early to make merry, would ye not say? For another, Fenella and I are in a hurry.”

  As though seeing her for the first time, Ewan turned to her with the same wide smile with which he’d greeted his brother. “This canna be Fenella. How long has it been since I last saw ye?”

  “Two years, at the least,” she muttered. He was the same charming rogue as he’d ever been, and she still saw through him. If he kept talking, kept merrymaking, he would not have to answer difficult questions.

  So he believed, for if she knew Donnan, he would not allow his brother to slip out of his clutches now that he had him.

  Donnan’s firm jaw told her she was correct in her assumption. He would not be deterred. “We must be on our way,” he insisted. “I wish to speak to ye, as there is much ye dinna know, but I canna do it with these others around, and certainly not while there’s a feast in the making.”

  She watched in silence, her eyes moving back and forth between them. Who would be the victor?

  Ewan’s shoulders fell as he conceded. “Very well, then. I shall ride with ye for a piece, for I do wish to know how it is ye lived when we thought ye had not.” Just like him, she thought with a bitter smile. Turning things about, making himself out to be the injured party.

  Though he was, truly. She remembered how grief-stricken both he and Clyde were the day she’d visited, along with her father.

  Perhaps he did deserve answers, but not nearly as much as his brother did.

  He turned to his friends, explaining in a low voice what he intended to do. “I shall meet up with ye in a day or two,” he promised, mounting a gray mare Fenella would have wagered he’d stolen from some poor, defenseless soul the group had made their victim.

  It was a thought that turned her stomach and only made her distrust him more.

  She allowed him to ride beside Donnan, in front of her. That was preferable to riding behind him, as she wished to be aware of his movements.

  The two of them glanced at each other from time to time, neither knowing where to begin. Men were sorely lacking when it came to knowing how to say what was in their hearts—this she’d already known, but the Ross men were the worst by far.

  “Where are ye going?” Ewan asked, the first to speak.

  “To visit Padraig Anderson.”

  “He is laird of Clan Anderson now.”

  “I know that.” Donnan’s words were clipped.

  He’d known it for less than an hour, but Fenella held her tongue.

  “When did ye come back?” Ewan questioned.

  “Over a month ago. I must admit, I was not pleased with what I found.”

  “Wait a moment.”

  “Ye ought to wait a moment,” Donnan snarled. Just like that, they were feuding. The peace had lasted minutes.

  “Both of ye, stop this!” Birds took wing in the branches above their heads at the sound of her voice. “Isn’t it enough that the two of ye are together? Let us ride, and ye can work out whatever it is ye need to work out after we’ve made camp for the night. While I’m good and far away from ye, if ye do not mind, for I’ve no desire to listen to this.”

  Donnan scowled over his shoulder, while Ewan chuckled. “Ye haven’t changed,” he grinned.

  “Nor have ye,” she scowled. It was not a compliment. She had never liked him much, and not merely because his brother outshone him in her eyes.

  At least they listened to her, refraining from argument for the time being. “Why are ye visiting Padraig, then?” Ewan asked, glancing back at her. “And why are ye in such a haste to do it?”

  Donnan’s gaze met hers, and she shrugged. It was entirely his decision whether or not to share their tale with his brother. While she did not trust him, she doubted he would deliberately bring harm to Donnan.

  He told Ewan of his journey to Clan Cameron land, leaving out the part where her father offered to pay off the debt Ewan had left behind. That was something they could discuss later, she supposed. They spoke of the lies Angus told, of his plan to unite the Highland clans when he truly wished to overthrow the larger clans and take their lands.

  “Ye are sure of this?” Ewan asked.

  “This is what we’re going to speak with Padraig about,” Donnan explained. “Perhaps we ought to pay a visit to the Duncans, too, their land being so near the Andersons. A day’s ride, two at the most. They need to know if they do not already that there is something going on.”<
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  “I doubt Phillip Duncan is unaware, whatever the case may be,” Ewan offered, stroking his fine-chiseled jaw. He did look so much like Donnan, down to the wave in his dark brown hair. “He rarely misses a thing, that one. And the Camerons have never made a secret of their desire to control Duncan land, either. They’ve wanted to for years. Even I know that.”

  “Perhaps they’ll be prepared for it, then,” Fenella suggested, hope blooming in her heart.

  “If it were just the Camerons, I would agree with ye, but what of the other clans who have agreed to join Angus? There is no telling how many already have. I was unable to find out.” Donnan cleared his throat. “There was little time to tarry.”

  “Did ye kill one of his men?” Ewan asked, aghast.

  “Nay, man, though I did strike one, but I didna kill him. It isn’t that.” A quick look over his shoulder told Fenella he did not wish to speak of anything she was unwilling to reveal. This meant the world to her, though she was loath to express herself in front of the likes of Ewan Ross.

  Instead, she explained, “Angus wanted me to marry him. I refused. Donnan helped me to escape.”

  “Did he…?” Ewan touched his cheek, then pointed to hers. She had not yet seen her reflection but could only imagine the bruise was quite striking, judging by the look on his face.

  She nodded.

  “The bastard,” Ewan hissed.

  “Aye, and he would do worse if he caught us now,” Donnan agreed. “Ye see, then, why there is no time to waste in merrymaking.”

  “I see,” Ewan nodded. “Do ye think they followed?”

  “I doubt it, as they would not have known I planned to move south. But I would not wish to take chances.”

  “Of course. I’m glad to be with ye, then. I would like to see the man willing to do that to a woman.”

  Fenella rolled her eyes behind his back. He would not win her over by playing the part of the valiant hero, and that was just what he strove to do. Win her over. Like an animal could sense when it was in danger, so could Ewan Ross sense when someone stood against him.

  He’d always been that way, she remembered. He wanted so much for everyone to like him, or to at least seem the type of person others liked and wished to be near.