The Highlander's Conquest (13 page)

Aliah shook her head, held up her hands. “No, please. Don’t say it.”

Mistress Kerr
tilted her head and
stopped walking. “Why do ye say that? Are ye married? Betrothed? Is it wrong?”

“Nay… Aye…” She shook her head and looked up at the sky, grey clouds starting to gather, blocking some of the sunlight. The air smelled of rain. “’Tis not a thing that can ever happen. I am spoken for.”

“Ah. I see. That explains it then.”

Why did Aliah have the feeling the woman thought she meant something else? Curiosity got the better of her. “What do you mean?”

“That explains why ye return his gazes, then your face falls, flaming with guilt.”

Was she that obvious? Aliah felt her face flaming even now. She whirled on her heels and started to walk away briskly.

“Apologies, my lady, I overstepped,”
Mistress Kerr
called behind her.

Aliah didn’t stop. She couldn’t face the woman, for she’d seen right through her. To the need in her heart. And the guilt that came each time
she
allowed herself to dream.

Pain radiated from the middle of Blane’s thigh outward. He resisted the urge to clutch at his leg, to rub away the pain, afraid he’d tear the stitches o
r
cause
his wound
to bleed again.

The room was silent, too silent. He wished for Aliah to return. To listen to the sound of her breath
ing
. When she’d been there before, he’d not truly fallen asleep. Although he wanted to. The whisky made him feel warm, and her fingers touching his thigh hotter. As she’d sewn him up, the pain had dulled. Then to hear her prayers…

She’d prayed for him. Prayed for him to heal. Prayed for their safety.

But the end of her prayer had seemed more internalized. A feeling he knew well.

Guilt. Pain.

Aliah wasn’t just talking about shooting him. There was something more. Something deeper.

What could it be?

Blane blinked his eyes open, trying to stay awake, to mull over what he’d discovered.
Everyone had secrets and he wanted so badly to discover what hers were. He wanted her to open her heart to him, to share what was hidden beneath. To comfort her. His head rolled toward the door, willing her to come back so he could ask her, but the door remained firmly
shut
. Closing his eyes, he tried to listen, willing his ears to pick up the sound of her voice.

He thought he could hear her outside. Was she leaving? She might try, but he’d given strict orders
that
she was not to leave the inn or the grounds. Blane trusted his men, trusted the
Kerrs
. Aliah would be there when he woke.

Still, he willed himself to remain
conscious
. Even tried to sit up, but the loss of blood, the pain and the surge of overpowering energy that had forced its way through his body as soon as he was hit with the arrow had made him
weak. Blane hated to be weak. Hated to be out of control.
Stay awake, ye bastard!

However, the edges of his mind were growing fuzzy, whisking him back to a time he’d rather never remember. To relive a moment in his history that was better left hidden within the graves of those he loved…

A history that no one, not even his brothers and sisters were fully aware of.

He was a lad of
twelve
summers.
’Twas the day after May Day, and the sun shone over the hills.
Gleeful that his parents had decided to take just him on the
ir ride through the countryside, he’d packed his
new iron
sword and stuck his tongue
out at his brothers and sister
Lorna
who’
d begged to come—the only one not asking was Heather,
his youngest sister,
a wee babe at the time.
Even Magnus
,
a great lad of fourteen
,
had wished to partake in the afternoon’s ride.
But today was
Blane’s
special day. ’
Twas his day of birth and he’d been out fostering at a neighboring clan
when his father called him home, gifting him with the sword and declaring that it was time for Blane to return to Sutherland, a man now.

Blane had
missed his family so much, his parents most of all, and the fact that they’d decided to give him a day all to himself made him soar.

They’d ridden out, his father waving away the men who wanted to provide escort, saying his son Blane would be enough of a guard. Blane’s pride had gone through the roof. His father believed in him.
With Blane g
rowing up a second son, his older brother
Magnus
had gotten most of the attention.
Magnus
was
,
after all
,
being groomed as the next laird.

How sa
d it was that
none of them
could have predicted how soon that would be.
That at the age of fourteen, such responsibility would be thrust upon his
brother’s
shoulders. Thank the Lord for the help of the clan elders, or the lot of them would have suffered greatly. And thank the Lord for the
training Magnus received, for he was an excellent leader, even at a young age.
If he could go back in time, Blane would have begged his father to bring an escort.
To stay home behind th
e thick walls of
Dunrobin
.

But instead he’d been cocky, full of himself, and selfish.

Not an hour passed when they were ambushed
by a mass of outlaws—some of whom he could have sworn spoke with an English accent
while others spoke Gaelic
. Playing dead was the only way he’d survived. His father and mother had both fought valiantly…
Blane had fought, even injuring a man with his new sword.
Until he’d fallen and remained painfully still as he bled into the grass.

T
heir deaths were on his shoulders.

How he wished he’d been
killed
that day instead of his parents.
He never found out who the perpetrators were. But he’d sworn that day, to himself and to God, that he would never stop looking for them.

It was a huge part of why he’d taken on the duties of traveling with the wool—so he could search each and every face he passed. To find those who’d murdered his family. To bring them to justice at the end of his sword. His fingers itched to run them through. Although they’d felled him, cut him clear through the ribs, he’d been lucky enough that the blade did not hit any vital marks. He bore an ugly
,
jagged scar as a reminder, not that he needed it.

Each day was filled with emptiness and guilt. Each day he saw the faces of the dozen or so warriors who’d attacked. Who’d jeered at his father and mother. Laughed with each cut of their swords.

Blane’s throat closed, his eyes burned
with unshed tears
. He search
ed
for the jug of whisky. Anything to take away the awful memories. Grappling with the jug on the bedside table, he pulled it to his lips and drank greedily.

Liquid burned down his throat and he coughed once as he swallowed, letting the warmth of the liquor fill him.

At last, blissful sleep came to take him away
, to dull the pain
in
his heart and make the memories fade.

Chapter
Thirteen

T
wo days later, exhausted from barely getting any sleep
,
Aliah stood in the main room of the inn waiting for Blane. She’d been given another room to sleep in as he recovered from
the arrow wound
in hers
. But having gotten used to sleeping during the day and r
id
ing at night, she found it hard to fall asleep, despite the extreme tiredness that made her body ache.

Yestermorn
, Blane had
claimed
he was ready to leave. But
Mistress Kerr
had
in
sisted
he stay at least one more night to be sure his wound would not become infected. Aliah had agreed. One more day wouldn’t hurt—at least she prayed it wouldn’t. Her sister was most likely fine, as Blane did not seem at all worried
about
her. If his brother Magnus was anything like him, then she was sure Arbella was in good hands. Besides, her father was with her, even if he was injured. Highlanders weren’t all barbarians—at least she prayed as much. Magnus
wouldn’t
harm her sister while her father was there. Would he?

Ugh.
So many questions, without answer
s
. She didn’t even know what was going on with her sister and trying to figure it all out was simply frustrating. Frowning, she folded her hands in front of her. She should have allowed Blane to tell her the whole story when he wanted to, instead of insisting that he wait. Then she wouldn’t be standing her
e
worrying over it. She could
be doing something productive such as
… Oh, she didn’t know what.

Stomping her foot she headed toward the stairs. She had to move, it was the only thing that would keep her sa
n
e.

“I will go and see if he needs help,” she mumbled to the room at large.

She felt a bit like her father, coming to see if she was ready
to greet guests
. What was taking the man so long?

When she arrived at the door, she found out, when his raised voice called out from beyond the door. He was speaking to
Master Kerr
who’d gone up to relay some news.

“I dinna expect…” his voice trailed off and then there was a garbled response from
Master Kerr
.
But then Blane’s words, harshly spoken, did come through the door, “Spoken for? By whom?”

Her throat closed up, hands grew clammy.
Mistress Kerr
must have relayed Aliah’s conversation with her to her husband, who promptly decided to warn Blane off. A trickle of betrayal crawled up her spine. She attempted to chase that feeling away. ’Twas for the best. She was spoken for—by the church. A
l
l of the tempting that Blane was doing had led her down a path of an
unvirtuous
nature and doubt. She’d even been contemplating not following through with her promise to Mother Superior.

Not wanting to listen to the rest of the conversation, she hurried downstairs.
Mistress Kerr
had inadvertently solved a major issue for her. Aliah would no longer have to worry about Blane’s steamy kisses, for they were sure to never grace her lips again. He would think her a wanton for having
engaged in such sensuous embraces anyway, given that she was promised to another.

As her foot touched the bottom stair
,
a realization occurred to her. She’d told him that she was promised to the church. Would he now think her a liar?

Saint’s big toe
! She didn’t want him to think
ill
of her.

But why did it matter what he thought of her at all
?
Once she was reunited with her family, she’d be on her way. Blane would be
nothing more than
a man from her past. And
he’d
stay that way.

Taking a few breaths to calm herself and her flipping stomach, she returned to the main room and found Liam.

“I wish to wait outside.”

He studied her hard, never having fully given her his trust again after she’d shot Blane. She didn’t blame him, but the way he studied her made her just a little
irritated
.
Finally, he nodded
.

“Dinna run off, Lady Aliah.”

Aliah didn’t honor him with a response and instead simply whirled around. She hadn’t asked for his permission, simply told him out of courtesy. Outside
it
was cold,
the temperature
having dropped significantly in the two days they’d been at the Fir Tree Inn.

Clutching her cloak tighter and moving her
cowl
over her head, she
proceed
ed
toward
the barn. Aliah snatched an apple from a bucket outside
the wide double doors
and brought it inside.
The scent of hay and animals was strong, but not offensive.
Mad Maiden stood docilely in her stall and nickered as Aliah approached her. They would leave her here. The
Kerrs
had agreed to keep her well until Blane’s next trip to England when he would return her to Mowbray Manor. In the meantime, they would allow her to use one of the mounts they owned. The innkeepers had been more than gracious toward
Aliah
. As a thank you,
she
had left a small token upon the table
in her room
.

’
Twasn’t
much, simply a few silver coins and a note. She’d known that
Mistress Kerr
wouldn’t accept any extra payment from her out of respect. Stubbornness was a flaw they both had in common. Aliah wasn’t going to let that get in the way of her saying thank you to the woman who’d befriended her, supported her, comforted her and opened her eyes to a new way of thinking.

A
little blonde girl ran by the barn door, reminding Aliah so much of herself. The child was happy, a smile wide on her cherubic face as she chased after
the family’s
dog. Frosty, beside
Aliah
, let out a little growl, leaning into Aliah’s thigh.

“You are a good pup, Frosty,” she murmured patting his head.

From outside, the child screamed with fear. Frosty took off running as Aliah leapt to see what was happening. Before she could see anything, Blane grabbed ahold of her, lifting her into the air.

“
Shh
,” he said urgently. He raced
, limping slightly,
to the ladder leading up to the loft, carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
His shoulder pressed uncomfortably into her belly, jabbing her with each of his jerky movements. Even still, he held her tight and she did not fear falling, only feared losing her breakfast.
The crying
from outside
ceased, but the shouts
of unknown men
remained.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Dinna say a word,” he whispered harshly. When he reached the top, he tossed her
gently onto a pile of hay, moving quickly to pull
the ladder into the loft behind them. He pointed toward
the corner behind a stack of hay
and mouthed, “Hide there.”

Her first instinct was to argue but the pinched look about Blane’s eyes had her obeying. Aliah’s
stomach plummeted and her mind conjured up all sorts of horrid things that could be happening.
The band of outlaws had followed them… But they were in Scotland. Any English outlaw with a worm’s
brain wouldn’t venture into this heathen land where they’d be quickly turned to dirt by the Scots. So who was it?

Shouts came from outside the barn—and they sounded English.

Bloody hell!
She crossed herself for having blasphemed.

Blane dove beside her after making sure the ladder was
pulled up and
well out of sight. Hay fluttered into the air with his movements, and his face registered pain. His leg must be hurting him immensely. Carrying her extra weight on his shoulders, diving. ’Twas all too much for a man in his state and she meant to tell him so when the danger was gone.
And ’
twould
be gone soon, she prayed.

The heat of Blane’s body beside her made her all too aware of their closeness.

Boots thudded on the ground below and a few of the horses let out warning snorts and neighs. Even the animals could sense the danger.

“What can I do for ye, sir?”
Master Kerr
’s voice sounded from beneath the loft. Miraculously
,
he didn’t sound in the least concerned.

“’Tis Lord Surrey, you Scottish swine.” The man’s voice was harsh, priggish, and Aliah immediately disliked him. “We would like rooms for the night. And boarding for our horses. A hot meal. In the name of King Edward of England, you shall give us what we demand and not expect to be paid. ’Tis the will of the king, and should you deny me, you will be punished.”

“Of course, my lord,”
Master Kerr
said amiably.

Bless his heart. Aliah wanted to reach out an
d
hug the
innkeeper
for being so cordial to an English lord who’d just insulted him and theoretically robbed him.
She prayed that
Mistress Kerr
had taken all the children to safety. This lord seemed cruel enough to flay one alive.

“Get these nags out of her
e
. Our horses should not reside with Scots rubbish.”

There was some shuffling and
Master Kerr
gave a soft command, she guessed to one of the stable hands.

“Any Scots rebels come through here, innkeeper?” Lord Surrey’s voice held a dangerous not
e
.

“Nay, my lord.”

“This is an awfully nice
destrier
to reside at an inn,” he drawled.

“Aye. ’Tis not mine.”

Aliah chewed her bottom lip raw. They were caught now.
Master Kerr
had a family to
protect;
it was understandable that he would give them up in the face of their danger.

“Then whose is it?” Lord Surrey asked.

“’Tis a knight’s. The horse was injured and he left it here to heal.”

The earl grunted. “Mayhap I’ll take it off your hands. Seems to be plenty healed to me.”

Beside her, Blane stiffened. She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but feared moving would give away their position.

“I dinna think ’tis a good idea. He said he’d be back afore winter, and well, that is anytime now.”

Aliah closed her eyes, sure the lord below would react viciously at
Master Kerr
for having denied him.

But the man only grunted again. “I think if the man were merely a knight he wouldn’t mind offering up such a beautiful beast to a man superior to him.”

“Agreed, my lord, save he wasn’t any old knight.”

“What do you mean by that, Scot?”

Every muscle in Aliah’s body burned from holding perfectly still. The hay itched her nose and she thought she’d sneeze. She held her breath, praying the men would leave. Placing her hands over her mouth and nose, she willed the itch in her nose to go away.

“’Twas the king’s own man.”

“Percy?
”

“Aye, that’s the name.”

“Well, then. I’d best keep the horse where he left it.”