I felt the urge to lift Wilkie’s shirt, to check his bandage for fresh blood, but it was all I could do to remain standing and presentable, as Wilkie’s clasping hand was now sliding gently up my arm. The rough surface of his fingertips were barely scratchy on the inner skin of my upper arm, where he grasped me so that the outer edge of his fingers touched ever so slightly, and very briefly, against the curve of my breast. His hand roamed up to my neck, where he curled his hand around my nape, holding it there. That he felt completely at ease touching me this way in front of his family was unsettling to me, mainly because it was inspiring heat in me that I was struggling to control.
“What of Ogilvie’s messengers, Wilkie?” Christie asked, with her usual eager clarity. “Have they discovered that Roses is here?”
I was almost thankful to Christie. That one comment succeeded in cooling me, a degree if not more, and Wilkie, too, froze in place. In a slow movement, he looked over at her.
“They have discovered nothing,” he said. “Nor will they.”
Christie’s next question was directed at Kade, perhaps in the hope of gaining more information thanWilkie might be willing to give. “Knox said they’d returned, more than once, and that one of the messengers spotted Roses. Is it true?”
Kade replied, “We think that Ogilvie believes it to be true.”
Seeing the look on Ailie’s face shocked me into my own brazen realization. Her face, so lovely in its colors: the paleness of her skin framed by curling tendrils of her inky-dark hair, and the striking violet shine of her worried eyes. I couldn’t let Ogilvie attack Kinloch. It was my fault that Ogilvie’s men buzzed around the area like agitated bees, seeking me out for their laird’s revenge. What if Ailie or Christie was hurt? What if Wilkie was struck down by an Ogilvie warrior?
I couldn’t let that happen.
I had no plan, but I knew I must leave them to protect them.
Leaving Kinloch was, to be sure, the very last thing I wanted to do. This place had been nothing but a magical sanctuary for me, as though a figment of a wondrous dream. I didn’t want to be its downfall. I couldn’t bear the thought of this peaceful, beautiful place being overrun and sullied by Ogilvie and his men. I envisioned Ogilvie warriors on horseback, storming into the keep, cutting down workers, trampling the gardens, bloodying this family. I couldn’t abide the thought of the people of this clan—Christie, Ailie, Effie, even Kade and the gruffly protective laird himself—being put in harm’s way because of my own willful desertion. That my own warrior might be placed in danger was a thought I simply could not tolerate. Not when there was something I could do to prevent it from happening.
Triggering an attack by Ogilvie forces would be farmore catastrophic than simply removing myself, for a time. I could return to the cave, to remain hidden. Maybe, after some time had passed, Ogilvie’s ire would fizzle out; maybe he’d forget about me as he concentrated on the Ossian Lochs rebellion and the conquest of other, newer potential mistresses. And maybe then, I might be allowed to return to the Mackenzies.
To remove myself from Wilkie: the thought sent actual shards of pain through my heart. But a temporary separation would be better than death. To lose him through battle—a battle caused byme—would be unbearable, especially when I could so easily defuse the situation by simply disappearing.
“I must go,” I said, pulling away from Wilkie’s grip. “I’ll not have Ogilvie attacking you, when it’s me he wants. ’Tis not right for me to put you in danger as I’ve done.”
Wilkie grabbed my arm. He looked at me warily. Kade, too, looked thoughtful, as though I’d surprised him.
“What’s your meaning, lass?” Wilkie asked, almost impatiently.
“I mean I must go! Away from here! If they come looking for me and storm your keep, you might be hurt. Any of you. Ogilvie has a strong army. I know, I’ve watched them and walked among them. Ogilvie can be a cruel and devious man. If I go, then they’ll leave you in peace.” I tried to pry his fingers from my arm, and I was ashamed to feel the hot prick of tears welling in my eyes. “I must go, warrior. Give me back my weapons. Release your grip on me.”
Wilkie’s clasp on my arm did not release; instead,it grew tighter, so tight that it pained the injury he had inflicted on me with his sword only weeks ago.
“Please, Wilkie,” I said, and the tears were streaming freely now. I felt frantic with fear and despair at the thought of leaving him, of putting behind the beauty of him and all that surrounded him, to resume my exile, alone, and through the long days and cold nights across the windswept Highlands. But it was the only thing I could do to keep them safe.
“Don’t be daft, lass,” Wilkie said, pulling me back to him. It riled me that he seemed to be entirely dismissive of my resolve. In fact, he appeared almost annoyed.
I struggled against his hold, but he held me with both hands now, and I couldn’t dislodge his grip. “If I go now,” I said, “and if Ogilvie’s troops arrive, you can tell them that I was here, but that I’ve fled you. That you didn’t know which direction I’d taken. They’ll come after me, and they’ll not bother you over this again.” My tears still flowed, and they shamed me. I should be stronger than this. I turned to Wilkie’s stormy-eyed brother, who contemplated me with an expression I hadn’t seen in him before. He looked almost...sympathetic. But my own voice sounded soulless, distant. “Kade, can you retrieve my weapons?”
Kade eyed me, then he looked at Wilkie. I couldn’t see the expression in Wilkie’s eyes as he returned his brother’s gaze. “Nay, lass,” Kade said.
The thought of making the trek alone, pursued, and without my sword was unthinkable. But then it occurred to me that I’d left my knife at the cave. And my blanket and bowl. The fruit. And my mother’s pin. I would start there, camp the night, then make my way toward Macduff’s at first light.
“You make things more difficult for me,” I informed him, “but if that’s to be the way of it, then so be it.” I tried again to pry Wilkie’s fingers loose from my arms.
“Warrior,” I said, with as much authority as I could summon. “Unhand me.”
“Nay, Roses,” he said, his voice low and calming, as though he was speaking to a spooked horse that was threatening to bolt. “You are not leaving this keep. Ogilvie’s men are of little threat to us. Our army is far superior to his, and our walls are sound. We have guards in place and our weapons are at the ready. Our keep is well protected. And so are you.”
It was then that I lost myself. I put my hands over my face, and Wilkie allowed this, loosening his embrace slightly. I sobbed with the shame of bringing this upon them, with the fear I felt for them, and for myself, for all that was lost to me: my family—twice—my sense of worth, my distance from ever feeling a real sense of belonging, my constant, tiring vigilance against a predator who had watched me for many years. I lost myself then because Wilkie, my warrior, had managed to unfurl all of those feelings of injustice and inadequacy. With his grip and his words, with his touch and his promises, he’d given me everything I’d long craved and everything I’d ever wanted, if I had ever been so bold as to imagine such things. Now, my whole heart and my whole soul desired nothing else but to stay with him and to believe him.
Wilkie held me against his chest and let me cry. My tears wet his tunic. He wrapped his strong arms around me. And Christie and Ailie were there, too, comforting me.
“Roses,” said Ailie, her eyes wide. “We’ll not let youwander alone. You’ll stay with us. We’ll hide you and take care of you.”
“You’d be killed for certain, Roses,” added Christie. “And who knows what else might happen if Ogilvie’s men caught you? It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
Even Kade said, “We would not be honorable men if we cast you out, lass, knowing full well you were in grave danger. Let us do what we are trained to do—defend our keep and all who reside within it.”
