Page 22 of Her Highland Destiny

Several days on the road together had not provided Fergus the opportunity to fully understand what Cassandra knew. There had been a shift in her, a wariness, and yet she had so successfully erected a wall to prevent him from her thoughts, it was impenetrable. And damn impressive.

It had taken him months to learn how to properly block his mind, a skill he hadn’t realized he needed to develop until his meetings with the king. Somehow the bastard always seemed to know what Fergus had been thinking in their prior meeting.

Snow dusted the ground like baker’s flour, leaving dots of white mingled with the bits of wilting grass and dry heather. The air held a wet cold to it that pierced one’s bones and made Fergus wish they had shared a horse rather than having their own. Though with the terrain being rough through Inverness and the ground slick in places, the animals needed to be spared. Especially when the beasts were as shoddy as they were, having been procured from a neglected stable near their inn.

Had Fergus not known the land so well from his youth, it might have been impossible to navigate.

He slid a glance to Cassandra and found her watching him, as she often did, her expression ponderous beneath the cloak wrapped about her. She was little more than a face from beneath furred hood, emitting occasional puffs of frozen air from her lips. The weather had been uncommonly cold for mid-November.

He could not read her thoughts, but he knew her emotions to be warring. They blurred about her in a confused mass, indecipherable.

There was lust, he knew. Aye, he knew that very, very well. It was a flame they handled often despite the awareness that one of them might end up burned. For there was a distinct lack of trust within her, that he knew with certainty.

They made their way down the steep side of a hill, their progress slow with the mud-thickened earth. Wind howled at them and nipped at their exposed faces.

“Do you find this weather strange?” she asked. “It has never been so cold this early before.”

“You are used to being farther south.” Fergus guided his horse away from a puddle, unsure how deep it might be.

“I’ve heard people in the villages discussing it. They have never seen weather such as this in November either.” She glanced in his direction, her stare pointed.

He knew where she was taking this conversation, where she had taken it before. The need for her to possess the stone. Yet he knew if she had it, she would leave - to ensure he never had possession of it again. Sacrificing everything for the safety of Scotland - him, what they had, and even his son.

The sacrifice of few for the survival of many.

“I canna give ye the stone,” he said resolutely.

“But you must see—” The ground beneath Cassandra’s horse slid away, like its skin pulled free from the slippery mud beneath. Her horse’s hooves scrabbled for purchase, its mighty hindquarters thrusting against the moving earth threatening to pull it down.

Fergus nudged his horse forward in an attempt to help, but his steed lurched backward to safer ground, its baser instincts falling to preservation.

Cassandra released the reins with one hand and the force of her power swelled thick in the cold air. But without touching Fergus and pulling from the force of the stone, her strength was not enough.

She needed him. He leapt from the saddle. His feet splashed on the sodden ground and threatened to slide out from beneath him as well. Cassandra wobbled on her horse while the poor beast continued to struggle, legs racing against the earth falling away beneath them both.

“Nay, hold the reins,” Fergus bellowed.

Cassandra’s hand shook with the force of her concentration. Her horse lurched to the right as the ground washed away. It leapt into the air and sent Cassandra flying from its back while its hooves finally found solid ground.

She gave a brief shriek midair and somehow managed to land on her feet, which promptly gave way beneath her.

“Nay,” Fergus cried. He lunged for her and caught the front of her cloak as the river of mud dragged her downward. It sucked at her with such strength, it almost drew them both to their demise. But Fergus had the stone, and he called on every last fissure of energy within it to save Cassandra.

He clutched her to his chest, unwilling to let her go when he had come so close to almost losing her.

“I am not so easily lost,” Cassandra said.

He looked down and found her gazing up at him. Mud had spattered against her cheeks and her hood had fallen away, leaving her dark curls in a wild disarray. Yet never had she looked more beautiful. More his.

“And I thank God for it.” He pressed a kiss to her warm, soft lips, not caring if he got mud on his own face.

Pain radiated from her and he pulled back. “Ye’re hurt.” He scanned over her, though it was impossible to see anything beneath the heavily furred cloak she wore.

She twisted her lips with frustration. “My ankle.”

He had to see the limb, but not here where the ground might once more slide away. A desperate survey of their surroundings revealed the rounded stone entrance of what might be a cave. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to it. The horses had both given to grazing once the excitement of their near death had passed, and so he left them thus.

“It is not so bad,” Cassandra said.