At Alesia’s quiet words, his body began to hum a soft warmth. As if blasted from a catapult, he understood. ’Twas she who had allowed him to heal.
But it made little sense. Aye, she was beautiful and he desired her, but he didna love her. Within days they would part and he would . . .
Miss her.
Greatly.
He dismissed the pull of emotions, the ache inside him at the thought of her leaving that refused to go away. ’Twas fatigue that muddled his thoughts, nae more.
Unsettled, Colyne began walking east. “We must keep traveling.” However much he wanted her, ’twas imperative to keep his focus ondelivering the writ. And he needed to remember how little he knew about the lass.
Regardless of much he wished otherwise, he must use caution.
Shielding the afternoon sunlight with his hand, Colyne scanned the heather-strewn field.
“What is wrong?”
At the nervousness in her voice, he glanced over. “Naught, I was but searching for any sign of English troops.” He refused to admit that part of his unrest came from his wanting her, as well as his bewilderment at how she’d made the pain of losing Elizabet fade.
Alesia scoured their surroundings with a tight frown. “You think we are in danger?”
As much as he wished to reassure her of their safety, he could nae. “Though we have spotted nay sign of our pursuers for two days, ’tis unwise to tarry in a field where we could be easily seen.”
After one last sweep to ensure ’twas safe, he led her into the distant woods. From there they crossed several fields thick with brambles, the air rich with the smell of grass and a blend of wild herbs, as well as the potent scent of a distant moor. Every so often, he picked up the faintest trace of the sea.
Colyne took in the familiar rolling fields and the sweep of the distant forest, pain twisting his gut.
“Are we close?”
“Aye. We will arrive at the outskirts of Glasgow this night.” There, he would check for any ships preparing to depart. The possibility existed that he could sail on the morrow.
And leave Alesia.
Forever.
His chest tightened at the thought. As if he had a blasted choice? He needed to reach King Philip posthaste. He didna have the luxury to remain with her until a ship arrived equipped with cabins befitting a lady.
But she would be safe.
Robert Wishart, the Bishop of Glasgow, a friend he’d known since his youth, resided here and would ensure her safe passage to France. And sadly, he was a man to whom Colyne needed to break the news of Douglas’s death.
Colyne smothered his melancholy thoughts. Though close to Glasgow, danger surrounded them. ’Twas unwise to mull over leaving her for fear of letting down his guard on any front.
“Except for a crofter’s hut,” she said, “I have seen no sign of a village, much less a glimpse of the sea.”
“I have kept our path off those normally traveled.”
“A wise choice.”
At the fatigue in her voice, he glanced over. Though she kept pace, her body had begun to tremble. He’d planned on traveling straight through to meet with the Bishop of Glasgow, which would take several more hours. But she was exhausted. He needed to find a place closer for her to rest.
’Twas nae as if he was delaying their parting. Tiredness etched the lass’s face and weighed her every step. That he could never quite push the questions of what about her drew him had little to do with his change of plans. Their delay would give them a few extra hours together, naught more. And what of her secrets? After the past days of fighting for their lives, had he nae earned a degree of her trust? With the possibility of his sailing on the morrow, he should leave the subject untouched. However much wisdom guided him to remain silent, considering how important she was becoming to him, Colyne found it imperative to know. “Alesia?”
A tired smile tugged at her mouth.“Oui?”
“Why are there men after you?”
The tender warmth of her expression chilled. “Do not.”
