Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (5 page)

“What was that
for?” he wheezed when he could finally speak.

“You know.”

“Well, someone had
to bring you back down to earth, Garrick,” he replied, straightening slowly.
“How does making googly eyes at a pretty lass and then kissing her senseless
help our mission again?”

Garrick gritted
his teeth. Unfortunately, Burke had a point. “She seems somewhat sympathetic to
the Scottish cause. I was hoping to learn whether or not she had heard of any
seeds of rebellion within the village.” That was close enough to the truth. Burke
didn’t need to know that Garrick hadn’t felt this drawn to a lass since—well,
ever.

“We should likely
only stay a day or two longer. I heard from the baker this morning that there
are rumors that Longshanks is ill.”

Garrick sobered
suddenly, his anger at Burke and his desire for Jossalyn pushed aside at such
serious news. “Those rumors have been floating around for months. What makes
them different this time?”

“Apparently Warren
isn’t the only one in Cumberland. Several of the aristocracy have gathered
there and are said to be attending Edward’s bedside.”

This could be it
then, the true start or end to the wars for Scottish independence, once and for
all. Edward wasn’t called the “Hammer of the Scots” for nothing—he had made it
his personal mission to eradicate not only Scottish culture and sovereignty,
but the very people themselves. His death could either be the rallying call for
the entire English army, or it could be the swan song of English efforts to
control Scotland.

“I have to get to
the Bruce,” Garrick said softly. He needed to report to his King, and prepare
for the fallout from Edward’s illness and possible death.

“We need to get to
your brother, remember?” Burke said just as softly. “He is our Laird, and he is
the one who sent us on this mission.”

“My brother and
the Bruce
both
sent me here, and the Bruce is our
King
.”

“We can decide on
the way north, but either way, we should be going soon.”

Garrick ran a hand
through his hair. “Aye, you’re right.”

“Tomorrow
evening.” Burke said simply. Garrick shot him a look, but Burke had an
apologetic expression on his face. “That way you’ll at least get to say goodbye
to the lass.”

“Aye. Thank you
for that.”

Burke nodded and
moved into the smithy to continue his work. Garrick was left standing in the
yard by himself, contemplating how to say goodbye.

Jossalyn was being
vain. But she wanted her hair to be just right today. She had selected her
brightest green dress, the one she knew brought out her eyes to their best
effect. Now it was just a matter of taming her blonde locks into the intricate
plaiting pattern she used for special occasions.

She had barely
been able to sleep last night, but it wasn’t just because her mind had tumbled
relentlessly over her kiss with Garrick.

Her first kiss. Yes,
she had pecked a few stable lads on the lips when she had been a girl, but she
had never experienced a real adult kiss between a man and a woman. It wasn’t at
all what she thought it would be like. She had seen others kiss, but never with
their tongues involved, and besides, seeing someone else was entirely different
that experiencing the rush of sensation for herself.

Despite the long
and sleepless night that had stretched since that kiss, she could still
perfectly remember the soft heat of his mouth, his firm hands on her waist and
hips—and something else that was also quite firm in his lap. She blushed for
the umpteenth time at the thought, and at the memory of Burke’s knowing smile
when he had barged in on them.

Pushing her
embarrassment aside, she tightened the green ribbon on the end of her plaited
hair. She had more important things to think about now than her girlish blushes
and that wondrous kiss.

She was going to
escape—her brother, the castle, some grandfatherly husband, everything.

She didn’t know how
yet, but she would. Something about yesterday had caused a shift inside her. She
could no longer live under the thumb of her brother, stifled and useless behind
the walls of Dunbraes Castle. She had felt stuck for so long, unable to live as
she wished, but unable to do anything about it either. She had bought into her
brother’s manipulation of her, thinking that things must be as he wished them to
be. But now, she suddenly saw a new door cracking open, revealing a future of
her choosing.

Certainly
Garrick’s sudden entrance into her life had facilitated this, but she wasn’t
pinning all her hopes on him to rescue her. That was why she had insisted that
they act as friends for the remainder of his time in the village. She still
barely knew him, and both he and his cousin would likely be leaving the village
soon anyway. It would be naïve at best, and dangerous at worst, to continue
allowing their passion to overwhelm them. Soon he would be gone, and if she
weren’t careful to separate her feelings for him from her desire for freedom,
she could end up at the whims of fate yet again instead of in control of her
future.

But she had to
admit, he had awakened something in her, shown her what her life could be like
if she were in charge of it. She could live in a place where her healing skills
were valued, where people cared for her, where perhaps she could even be loved
for who she was. He had shown her what passion was, and she wanted more of it in
her life.

So she would
leave, and start life over someplace new. Just the thought sent shivers of
excitement and anticipation coursing through her. Suddenly she had a brighter
future, even though the path to get to it was still unknown.

This newfound
energy and confidence surged through her as she made her way toward the
village. She would make her rounds to check on her patients, then swing by the
smithy to see how Garrick’s shoulder and John’s hip were doing. By the time she
got back to the castle that evening, Gordon would likely be taking his first
solid food in several days. She wouldn’t have many more days like this,
sneaking to the village and dodging her brother’s lackey.

Before yesterday
she would have felt deep grief for the ending of this brief reprieve from her
older brother’s control. Now she welcomed the end of the need to hide and lie
about what she was doing. Soon enough, once she worked out the details, she
would no longer have to risk punishment for doing what she loved.

Her joy must have
been evident, for everyone she passed as she moved about the village smiled
back at her, some even commenting on the beautiful summer day or how hale and
hearty she was looking. She breezed through her visits as if she were the warm
summer wind itself. By late afternoon, she had finished all her house calls and
errands, and headed toward the smithy.

She approached
from the alley again, but no one was working there this time, so she went to
the back door and knocked lightly before entering.

Instantly, she
felt like she was intruding on something private and important, and her good
mood faltered for a fraction of a second. Burke and Garrick were sitting across
from one another at one of John’s large tables, both leaning in on their elbows
with their heads close together. Both heads whipped around when she entered,
and their eyes, Burke’s dark blue and Garrick’s steel gray, bore into her with
intensity.

“I’m sorry, I was
just stopping by to check…Where is John?”

Burke seemed to
recover first, and transformed smoothly into the jovial, chivalric man he
always was around her. “Ah, mistress Jossalyn, what a pleasant surprise! John
has gone out again, but he should be back later this evening. Is there anything
we can do for you in the meantime?”

Her eyes moved
between the two men. She could feel a slight crease forming between her brows. “Is
something wrong?”

“No, of course
not, my lady! It is just that…” Burke shifted his eyes to Garrick and waited
with an expectant look on his face.

Finally, Garrick
broke the silence. “We leave this evening,” he said flatly.

“Oh, so…so soon?”
She sounded small and deflated even to her own ears.

“Yes, John is all
caught up with his work and is feeling much better now. Besides, we got word
that our uncle may be ailing. Nothing serious, I’m sure, but we will be headed
north tonight,” Burke said, not a crack showing in his veneer.

“Yes, of course,”
she said vaguely, her eyes drifting around the room, looking at the ceiling,
the floor—anywhere but at Garrick. She could feel his intense gaze on her
nevertheless.

“I wish you both a
safe journey,” she said, suddenly anxious to get out of the too-warm smithy. She
spun around quickly and exited through the door. Before she had gone three
steps, however, she felt a large hand wrap around her upper arm, gently pulling
her to a halt.

“Jossalyn…” Garrick
swam in her vision as the tears welled up in her eyes.

“No, no, it’s all right,”
she said airily with a wave of her hand. “I knew you were leaving. I just
thought…that perhaps we would have a few more days to spend together…as
friends.”

Who was she
kidding? Certainly not herself. She could never be friends with this man. She
was friends with John and Laura from the village, and had been friends with Meg
and Vera, her old teachers in the arts of healing. But Garrick was different. She
didn’t have
friendly
feelings toward him—she longed for him, dreamed of
his kiss, felt her stomach flip every time she saw him or drew near to his
large, muscular frame.

“I don’t want to
be your friend, lass,” he said quietly.

Her heart jumped
at his words, for his meaning was apparent. Could he feel the same way that she
did?

But then he went
on. “But…I have to go. I am duty- and honor-bound to return to my home and take
up the work that I was born to do.” A dark shadow settled over his face, and
for some reason he seemed to be speaking about more than his job as a
blacksmith, but Jossalyn didn’t know why. All she could do was nod, for she
didn’t trust her voice not to break.

Ever so gently, he
took her hand into his much larger one and raised it slowly to his lips. He
placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand, and it felt like a hot brand.

She couldn’t take
it. She was going to crack to pieces right here if she had to say goodbye to
him like this. Without thinking, she pulled her hand free of his grasp and away
from his lips, then turned, running back up the alley. She no longer cared that
the tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

Garrick watched
her go with a stone wedged in his chest. His feet longed to give chase, but his
head kept him rooted in place. This was how it had to be. She was just one
lass, and he had a job to do. What did the feelings of two people matter when
it came to the fate of an entire nation?

He scrubbed a hand
over his face, trying to get the image of Jossalyn’s emerald-green eyes, which
had shimmered with tears, out of his head. He had a feeling that no matter how
many times he rubbed his face, the lass would stay with him long after this war
was decided once and for all.

Forcing himself to
turn back to the smithy, he caught Burke watching him from the doorway. His
cousin didn’t bother offering condolences or try to lighten the mood. Instead,
he gave him a slight but resolute nod, waiting for Garrick’s word.

“Let us prepare. We
move tonight.”

It would have to
be tonight, then, Jossalyn thought as she opened the wooden door to her armoire.
She had indulged in enough tears throughout the late afternoon and evening,
bolting her chamber door and refusing to join the rest of the castle in the
evening meal. Now it was time to clear her head and make a plan.

She had already
decided to escape Dunbraes sometime in the near future, but she hadn’t
anticipated that it would be
quite
so soon. But she couldn’t deny that
this was as good a time as any—better, probably, since her brother was still
away and Gordon hadn’t fully recovered yet from her dose of laxative tea. She
wouldn’t be watched from the castle. The only problem that had remained was how
to put enough distance between herself and Dunbraes so that she wouldn’t be
traceable.

Garrick and Burke
provided the solution, but she had to move—now. They were heading north, far
enough that it would take at least a full day’s worth of travelling, if she
remembered their vague comments about their village right. And they had a large
wagon with a loose canvas covering to protect their minimal personal effects.

Now the only thing
she needed to do was pack, sneak back out of the castle, find their wagon, stow
away inside of it, and spend the long night ahead bumping and jostling toward
freedom. It would be easy enough…wouldn’t it?

When she ran
through all the steps mentally, and all the things that would have to go right,
she nearly gave up. If anyone in the castle, especially Gordon, spotted her
leaving, they would send several guards after her—for “protection,” they would
say.

And what if
Garrick and Burke had removed their canvas covering, or filled the wagon with
supplies? Or what if they discovered her before she could surreptitiously slip
from the wagon as they passed through one of the many small towns to the north?
Would they be angry with her? Would Garrick think she was crazy? What if he
thought she was thrusting herself on him, despite the fact that he had made it
clear that he was leaving and they would likely never see each other again?

This last worry
sent ice into her stomach. She was using him, yes, but only as a means to
secure her own freedom. She didn’t expect anything from him. She was leaving of
her own free will and with her own goals in mind, not to chase after him or force
herself into his life. That was why she had decided that she would slip from
the wagon before they reached their home village. She would start from scratch
on her own, not latch onto him in hopes that he would save her.

She pushed away
the lingering feel of his large, warm hand engulfing hers. Yes, she could admit
to herself, she wanted to be with him. But forcing herself on him was no way to
start a life together. Perhaps someday, if she could ever be truly free of her
brother and her past as an English lady of Dunbraes, she would be able to find
him again, to start fresh, to meet on equal ground.

For now, though,
she had to focus on her life—without him. She needed to be a healer, and to
have control over her life. If she could somehow manage to find happiness with
a man—she wouldn’t let herself think of only Garrick—then all the better.

Despite the
stretch of warm summer days of late, Jossalyn pulled out her thickest winter
cloak from the back of the armoire. There was no telling what kind of
conditions she might face in the coming weeks and months, and besides, it would
help if she had to sleep on the ground. She found a satchel near the back as
well, and stuffed another chemise and dress inside, along with a few other
small items.

She turned to her
herb basket. This part of packing was more difficult. She would have to leave
many of her supplies and plants, but she could always gather more. She could
take only the rarer items from her basket, leaving things like blackberry
leaves and dandelions, knowing she could find them again easily.

When her satchel
was nearly full, she forced herself to sit on the edge of her bed and wait. She
would need to go through the kitchen for at least a few scraps of food to take
with her, but it would still be bustling from the cleanup of the evening meal. The
sun was approaching the horizon, though. She would likely have a small window
when the kitchen would be quieter but enough residual light remained in the sky
for her to find Garrick and Burke’s wagon.

When the sun had
finally sunk below the horizon and the air began to turn pale blue, she eased
her chamber door open and slipped through the stairwells and corridors to the
kitchen. Just as she had hoped, the kitchen was now quiet and empty. She moved
on silent, slippered feet toward one of the pantries and rummaged in the dim
light until she found a few apples, a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and
several slabs of dried meat. She wrapped them all in a kerchief and stuffed
them into her satchel, along with a half-f waterskin.

Now came the hard
part. She would have to somehow slip from the castle without been seen or
questioned. Luckily, the portcullis tended to stay open on these long summer
evenings, allowing villagers to sell their wares with the castle’s inhabitants.
She held her breath as she approached the castle yard, praying to see the portcullis
up and enough traffic moving in and out to provide her cover.

As the entrance
came into view, she exhaled raggedly. It was open. But it looked like the
guards atop the curtain wall were just getting ready to close it. The lingering
villagers in the yard were making their way toward the castle’s entrance, some
pulling donkeys or carrying baskets as they made their way home.

Jossalyn
surreptitiously pulled up the hood of her cloak despite the balmy evening air. Keeping
her head down, she forced her feet to move at the wearied pace at which the
other villagers were ambling toward the entrance. Altering her path slightly,
she angled herself to the far side of a group of three villagers with a mule in
tow.

“Have you seen
Lady Jossalyn pass through to the village?”

Jossalyn’s heart
nearly exploded at the sound of Gordon’s voice talking with one of the guards
on the curtain wall overhead. She was nearly through the portcullis, and almost
bolted as if just being on the other side of the spiked grate would somehow
make her safe from detection.

“She returned
several hours ago. The lady is likely in her chamber,” the guard replied.

“I knocked, but
she didn’t answer. Warren with have my bollocks if he hears that she was in the
village while he was away,” Gordon grumbled. “You’re sure she came back?”

“Of course I’m
sure. That tasty little morsel’s not easy to miss, or forget.” The men shared a
knowing laugh.

Jossalyn swallowed
the bile in her throat. It was no surprise that the met-at-arms of Dunbraes Castle
would speak of their mistress in such a foul way. They all saw how her brother
treated her—like nothing, like a mat on which to wipe his boots. Why wouldn’t
they do the same?

“I’ll check on her
in the morning. The little minx is likely counting her dresses or organizing
her ribbons or some such bullshite. But what’s this about your adventures with
Lucy in the stables the other night? One of the lads told me…”

Jossalyn didn’t
catch the rest, for she was through the portcullis and beyond the thick curtain
walls now. Forever.

She wove her way
through the last few clumps of villagers on the road from the castle to the
village, then ducked down one of the dark alleys. She kept the hood of her
cloak up, though, fearing that the light of the nearly-f moon would reflect
off of her pale hair.

Just as she was
about to turn the last corner before the main road in front of the smithy, she
heard deep male voices and skidded to a halt. It was Garrick and Burke, talking
quietly in front of the smithy. Her heart leapt at the sound of Garrick’s
voice, barely audible even though she was mere yards away from the two men.

“…with the rest of
it in the wagon. We needn’t tell John anything.”

Burke didn’t
respond, but then she heard a rustling even closer to her and realized that he had
walked to the wagon, which was just around the corner on Jossalyn’s side of the
road. She heard him toss something into the wagon, then caught the sound of
rustling canvas as he covered the wagon’s contents. Straining, she thought she
could hear him walk back to the smithy, but she couldn’t be sure, for both men
moved unusually quietly.

She took a deep
breath to brace herself. She couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to act. As
quick as she could, she darted her head around the corner and back behind it
again, but in the fraction of a second of sight she had given herself, the
street had been quiet and empty. Neither Burke nor Garrick was in sight in
front of the smithy. They must be inside. Taking another fortifying breath, she
eased herself around the corner.

Blessedly, the
wagon was mere feet from where she had been hiding. She darted behind it,
squeezing herself between it and the building opposite the smithy. Then she
threw one leg over the side of the wagon, pushing her foot underneath the
canvas cover, which was loosely strewn over what looked like several dark lumps
in the back of the wagon.

As she eased her
weight in and began to pull her other leg over the side, the large draft horse,
which was already hitched up, turned its head in the growing darkness of the
night and looked at her.

She froze, her
blood running cold, praying that the horse didn’t snort or give any other
indication of its load increasing. Instead, the horse merely stared for a
moment, then turned its head back forward as if it were bored by the sight of
her stowing away in the back of the wagon.

Nearly witless and
exhausted with the strain and fear holding her taut, Jossalyn eased the rest of
her body into the wagon, shimmying under the canvas. She managed to wedge
herself between the wall of the wagon and a few of the lumps of supplies she
had seen earlier. Thankfully, the supplies made higher mounds than her body
did, so the canvas draped smoothly several inches above her between the
supplies and the side of the wagon. Her shape wouldn’t be detected, even in
daylight.

Just as she
settled in, she heard the faint sound of the door to the smithy swing open and
closed. A moment later, the wagon rocked gently from side to side as the two
men swung into the bench at the front. Neither spoke, but Jossalyn heard the
slight snap of the reins on the draft horse’s rump, and the wagon began to
roll. She was off.