Warrior and the Wanderer (27 page)

He held her tighter. Someone had to watch her back.

* * * *

Father d’Auguste hobbled across the ground, the charred remains of the abbey behind him silhouetted harshly against the moody sky. He looked up, arms raised.

“
Deo gratias!
” he cried out.

Bess climbed down from her mount and raced toward the priest, through the huddle of monks kneeling in the damp grass.

“Father!” she asked. “Why d’ye give thanks to God in the wake of this tragedy?”

The priest looked down at her. Bess heard Ian pound up behind her. “My dear Bess,” the priest said. “I give thanks to God because we are all unharmed. That is His most gracious blessing.”

She quickly glanced at the ruined abbey. The blackened timbers thrust to the sky like splayed dark fingers, some twisted at sickening angles. The stone shell of the abbey had half-crumbled, the once grey stone was now coated in black soot. Strewn about her on the trampled grass were possessions of the church the friary had managed to salvage: a gilded crucifix, a pewter chalice, chairs, benches and one trestle table. The monks knelt among these objects their heads bent in prayer.

Bess bowed her head to say a quick prayer of thanks that the brethren were spared. The ground under her feet was pockmarked by fresh hoof prints. She quickly looked up.

“Father, ye and yers dinnae have horses. Who was here?”

The priest stared at her, then glanced over her shoulder at Ian.

“Let us walk a wee bit. Both of you please accompany me.”

Bess and Ian followed Father d’ Auguste around the abbey to a small knoll that looked down on the silvery string of the River Forth. A lovely contrast to the ugly horror behind them, Bess thought.

“We are alive and unharmed, dear Bess. That is God’s will,” the priest said.

“Was it God’s will to destroy the abbey?”

“No, I’m afraid not, my dear.”

“Then whose will was it?” Ian demanded.

Bess took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Wheesht,” she said softly.

“Father?” she asked. “Who has been here?”

The priest looked away. Bess’s insides curdled.

“Father? Who did this?” she asked again, voice trembling, fearing the answer.

“You know.” Father d’Auguste looked toward the river.

“Well, I bloody don’t,” Ian interjected.

Bess looked at him, not able to conceal the terror in her gaze.

“Lachlan?” he asked.

She forced out a nod. “Aye. Lachlan.”

He pushed a whoosh of air through his lips as he surveyed the remains of the abbey. “Bloody hell.”

“Why?” Bess asked Father d’Auguste.

The priest gave a mighty shrug. “What fierce desire causes one man to sin against another?”

“Father,” she urged. “Your philosophy is all well and good in its place, but please tell us when Lachlan was here.”

“At daybreak,” the priest said. “Before he and his legions torched the abbey, he asked me one question.”

“Aye, Father?”

“Did I grant you an annulment?”

A chill tore up her spine. “What did ye tell him?”

“’Tis a sin, my dear, to lie.”

Bess nodded. “Of course.”

Father d’Auguste offered her a slight grin. “So, I pray God will forgive me for breaking one of His Holy commandments as I told Lord MacLean that you do not have an annulment.”

She leapt forward, clasping her arms around his stout neck. “God will forgive ye, but Lachlan apparently didnae. I am so very sorry.”

“Think nowt of it, my dear.”

Bess stepped back from him.

Father d’Auguste regarded Ian. “Keep this MacLean close to your person. I feel he will protect you as will our Heavenly Father.”

She glanced at the ruined abbey, thinking of the annulment paper in the purse hidden beneath her skirts.

“I will send some of my clan to help ye re-build,” she promised.

The priest bowed his head. “Thank you, my child.” He made the sign of the cross in the air. Bess bowed her head.

“May the blessings of God guide you and keep you. Amen,” he said.

“Amen.” She raised her head and looked at Ian. “We’re to Inverary. If we ride through the night, we should make it by daybreak.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “
We.
”

* * * *

Bess could no longer fight off sleep. Ian had insisted she hand over the reins.

He looked down at her curled across his lap. The side of her face was buried in his plaid, her flame-hued tresses spilled over part of her face. He had figured out how to guide her horse, slowly down the path to Inverary. He managed to hold the reins with one hand while keeping Bess from slipping off his lap with the other.

He had no idea where he was riding other than west.

His arse ached. They had ridden all day and a good portion of the night.

It was time for a rest. He could let Bess sleep a wee bit more, could feast from her provisions and, most importantly, he could detach his bum from the leather saddle.

“Whoa, good beastie.” He kept his voice soft and gentle, and the horse obeyed him. Ian smiled and patted the shiny withers. “You and me are getting on fabulously, auld sod.”

He slipped from the saddle holding Bess in his arms. He would wager she barely weighed a hundred pounds, and he bet ten of those pounds were the clothes and weaponry she wore. Cradling her against his chest, holding the horse’s lead, he walked through the moon shadows to a small clearing in the trees that surrounded him.

He found an idyllic spot, not far from the path. A small burn cut through the mossy ground. He could hear the splashing of a waterfall nearby.

“Perfect for a wee while,” he whispered.

Carefully, he rested Bess on the moss. She stirred slightly, turning over snuggling into the folds of her cloak; her eyes clenched shut, her pale brow furrowed. Bad dreams?

Ian tethered the horse to a low branch giving the good beast plenty of slack to graze.

He knelt back beside Bess and smoothed a hand over her hair. Bess clenched her body into a tighter ball. He removed the claymore in its sheath from her back and laid it beside her, and then he unwrapped the plaid from his body and tucked it over her body.

Dressed only in his tunic, Ian rose to his feet and walked to the horse that chomped on the sedge that grew beside the path. When Ian approached, the beast raised its head, ears twitching.

“Good lad.” He patted the great strong neck. “Ye work tirelessly and for what? A bit of grass here and there. You’re more fuel efficient than a Tesla.”

He removed the saddle, satchel, and blanket from the beast’s back and carried them to where Bess slept. Ian vigorously shook the wool blanket out removing as many prickly horsehairs as he could and spread it on the ground. He sat on the blanket, taking in the sweet, slightly cool air.

A mild wind rattled the twisted boughs. Then a rattling in his gut brought forth a true need. He opened the satchel and rooted his hand inside. Nothing. Not a bloody scrap of bread, dried meat, fruit, not a thing to eat. He did however find her flint and a smooth pebble.

He decided to make a fire. He’d seen
Survivor
and had seen Bess do it. How difficult could making a fire be?

Snatching up some dried leaves and twigs, he made a little pile on a bare spot of earth. Remembering what Bess did every time she made a fire, he knelt down and leaned over the pile. He struck the flint hard with the smooth pebble. A few small sparks jumped out and fizzled to nothing in the pile of leaves and twigs. He leaned down more and struck the flint harder. The sparks were bigger. This time he puffed air on the pile. A small flame ignited the corner of one leaf. He blew gently on the flame until it grew, catching the rest of the pile on fire. He put on more twigs and then some larger branches until he had created a nice, cozy fire.

He sat up. His gaze caught the claymore on the ground beside Bess.

“Hmmm….” He could do this. If he could ride a horse, he could hunt down some food. He could add it to his list of newfound sixteenth century skills.

Ian took up the great Highland sword and left Bess sleeping beside the fire.

“Focus, Maclean, focus. You can do this. Channel your inner Bear Grylls.”

He walked through the forest, along the burn, keeping his ears pricked and eyes scanning the silvery moonlit woods. The flicker of the fire he had made was in his periphery just beyond the trees. He suddenly stopped and looked down at the Highland weapon in his fist.

“What the hell am I doing? I’m only fooling myself here. There’s no bloody MacDonald’s, no Taco Bell, not even a chippy van. This life is too raw for the likes of me. I must be out of my mind thinking I could make it here.”

“Ye can make on the merits of yer other talents.”

Ian whirled about. Bess stood before him, one hand out.

“Give me the claymore. And wait by yon fire ye built. I’m most impressed, by the way.”

He gave her the sword and a smile. “Thanks.”

“I’ll no’ be but a moment,” Bess said giving him a wink. She disappeared into the woods.

Ian watched her stalk off. “Don’t go too far!” he shouted.

“Wheesht! Ye’ll frighten the game. Dinnae fash yerself. I’ll return soon enough.”

Ian believed her but he remained vigilant all the same.

* * * *

Bess held the stick with the roasted hare out to Ian, playfully teasing him with it and smiling. Since Ian had entered her life she caught herself smiling quite a lot.

“Eat it, ye wee bairn. I’ve no’ seen a man as squeamish as ye over a wee bit of game.”

Ian tentatively reached out and took a leg, tearing it from the rest of the carcass.

“I don’t think I can get used to watching my dinner trapped by a fiery huntress, killed, gutted, skinned, skewered and cooked. Well, I can get used to the fiery huntress bit.”

“Lack of meat has made ye daft.” Bess tore off a piece of the succulent meat with her teeth and chewed, staring across the fire at Ian. “Ye make a good fire, for cooking a wee hare.”

“Back-handed compliments, Blaze?” Ian bit off a piece of meat.

“Aye…I mean, no. What is a back-handed compliment?”

Ian smiled. “It’s like teasing.”

“We should continue on to Inverary and we’ve eaten,” she said firmly, but in the back of her mind, knowing they could cover more ground in the daylight.

“My arse is sore enough as it is. I’m not getting back in that saddle tonight.”

“Soak yer backside in the burn. The swelling’ll go down right enough.”

“I hear a waterfall nearby. Much more refreshing.”

“Ye’ll find any reason to bathe, will ye no’. Is that what one does in yer time?”

“Every day,” Ian said rising to his feet.

“
Every day?!
” Impossible! She looked at Ian. No wonder he was built the way he was, tall and brawny. His muscles were surely made from hauling water for a bath everyday.

“Join me?” he asked. Ian began stripping off his tunic.

Bess did not reply, just sat back and watched him in the firelight. Her smile grew wider as he dropped the garment to the ground.

Freshly naked, Ian stepped forward and offered her his hand, which she took and stood before him.

He took her body and pressed it against his. Bess rose on tiptoe and sealed her lips on his. He lifted her up, holding her against his body, returning her kiss with one of his own. She wanted to feel him hold her this way for an eternity, silently cursing that urgency born of having to live a lifetime with Ian in less than a fortnight.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” he whispered.

Ian’s breath washed over her face as he removed her clothes. He took his time, heightening her anticipation.

He glided his hands up her back, the sensation surging through her. She thought her knees would buckle. He kissed her neck, her throat, as he slid the top of her tunic off of her shoulders. Bess breathed deeply, filling her body with an ocean of the evening air.

Ian slid his hands around her shoulders down to her breasts, cupping them, teasing the nipples to harden. Her breath tumbled out ragged. She lolled her head back as Ian kissed each swollen nipple.

Bess gasped, feeling Ian’s hands glide her tunic from her body. Her skin puckered into row upon row of gooseflesh.

“Ian,” she breathed. “Is this the last time we make love?”

“We have over a week, I think, more than enough time to do this again…and again.”

“’Tis not enough time.” The words were difficult for her to say, the sentiment difficult to confess. Ian would see her as weak, she feared.

A slight breeze rattled the tensile boughs of birch, the leaves rattling like coins in a basket. Bess stared into Ian’s eyes.

“I agree,” he said. “My time remaining here is not enough.” He paused and brushed a loch of her hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t going to tell you something, but I think I should now.”