He stepped in front of her, pulled her into his embrace, and held her, saying nothing. With his chin resting on her head, he took a big breath through his nose and tried to settle himself. He felt like a heel for causing her dismay. As he stood with her in his arms in the center of the lane, he spotted Aymer approaching.
“Laird,” Aymer called from afar.
Breckin continued to hold Eva and wanted to make amends but knew not how to even begin to make up for his affront. “Go away, Aymer.”
“Och, Laird, I wanted to tell ye that—”
“Is it important? If not, go away and I shall find ye later.” He’d spoken with a bite to his words, but that couldn’t be helped.
His soldier lowered his head, turned on his heel, and trudged away.
Breckin pressed his hands over Eva’s back, trying with all his heart to console her. He didn’t like that she felt alone. It shouldn’t matter tohim, but her despair brought forth an empathy he’d never felt before. “Forgive me, lass, because I did not realize the predicament I put ye in. I should not have left ye but the matter was of great importance. Not that ye are not as important, ’tis just… Well, hell, I am making a muck of this.”
Eva leaned into him and gently eased her arms around his body. Breckin sighed with relief at her acceptance.
“Come, we shall keep walking until ye feel ye are ready to return.” He turned her and set his arm around her shoulder to guide her.
They progressed farther away from the bridge and reached the spot where the torch was mounted before the waters of Loch Lomond. Breckin stood in silence and he caressed her cheek with his thumb. He raked his eyes over her loveliness and couldn’t fathom how a woman could appear so bonny. Her blue eyes brightened with unshed tears. The long locks of her brown hair hung in waves over her back. As if he saw her for the first time, Breckin’s breath caught at the beauty before him, much like he had on that day in the market.
“’Tis beautiful here. Why is there a torch-lit?” She pulled away from him and stepped closer to the edge of the land.
“This place is special to me.”
“I can see why,” she said and continued to peer at the waters flowing rapidly below.
Breckin sidled next to her and took her hand. “Take care, lass, because the drop here is steep. This is where Marian died. The torch signifies our mourning of her death.”
“Oh, then it is a sad place for you. Perhaps we should return.” Eva dislodged from his hold and turned to walk back toward the bridge.
Breckin stepped quickly to follow her. As they walked along, he wondered if he should have divulged more about his sister’s death. But Eva hadn’t asked and he did not want to talk about it. Marian’s death still hurt deeply and he wondered if there would come a day when he wouldn’t mourn her or feel the intense pain that her passing caused.
“We need to stop at Willa’s because my brother was injured. I want to see how he fares.” Breckin took hold of her hand again and her touch somewhat lightened him. It was an odd sensation but he felt the squeeze of her fingers. Her acceptance brought forth the realization that he needed her—needed her solace, care, and affection.
A warrior should not concern himself with the needs of love, he realized. It was better to keep himself shielded against such tender-hearted measures. Breckin did not want to be hurt again and after losing so many who he cared about, like Marian and his parents, he wanted to keep himself from experiencing such sentiments.
At Willa’s cottage, he opened the door for Eva and they entered the crowded, small confines of the healer’s domain. Connor sat on a table with his leg outstretched. Willa plied a needle with string to his leg and sewed up his brother’s wound.
“Oh, Connor, you hurt yourself,” Eva said and rushed to his brother’s side. She pressed a hand on his shoulder and then gripped his chin and lifted it. “We shall take good care of you.”
“How do ye know he’s Connor?” Breckin was astounded that she knew who his brother was by name. Most couldn’t tell his brothers apart.
Eva flashed a wily smile. “Of course, I know he is Connor. Conner has a wider nose than Caden. Caden has a small scar above his eyebrow. Do you mean to say that you cannot tell them apart…your own brothers?” She chuckled.
“Bollocks, most times, nay.” Breckin was dumbfounded that he hadn’t ever made the distinction of differences between his brothers. He rounded the table and stood on the other side. “Are ye all right, Connor?” he asked.
“I gave him a wee dram to ease his pain. He shall be out like a candle in the breeze before long, Laird, aye, very soon. Then I shall try to assess his leg,” Willa informed them. Whatever it was she’d given his brother, it appeared to be working. The lad wasn’t struggling as shesewed along his wound. Breckin had never seen him be so still, and it was unsettling.
“Aye, Laird. Willa said it was a nasty gash to be sure.” Connor seemed proud of his injury.
Caden scoffed as if he wished to be lying in Connor’s place. “Ye were lucky and ye probably broke a bone too.”
Breckin smirked at his brother. “How is he, Willa?”
“He shall take a wee bit to heal, for it appears his brother is correct. He might have broken a bone. I had to stitch both sides of his leg. He will have a good bit of pain and trouble walking for a spell, but alas, he shall walk again. I will bind him to keep his leg immobile.” Willa disregarded them as she continued her ministration.
“Ye scared the hell out of me, Connor. I pray ye have learned your lesson. No more daring feats and senselessness, do ye hear? I will hear your pledge.”
“I did not know the wood was weakened, Laird. Och, I vow to be more careful in the future,” Connor said groggily.
