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“I can tell.”
“Have we lost them?”
“Aye, I haven’t heard the hounds for a while.”
He leans his head back and the sun makes his tanned skin look golden like some God come to earth for a visit. His hairless chest is a mess of scabbed cuts from the torture, but the swollen pecs and hard abs are still a delight to view.
And it’s so much better to admire the beauty of his body than to let the haunting image of those eyes invade my thoughts, though they are there in the shadows, waiting. Impulsively I touch his chest, tracing the line of his right pectoral. He arches an eyebrow and grins.
“See something you like, lass?” He grins.
“Aye.” I smile. “That I do.”
We both chuckle, then almost as one we sigh. There’s no denying this is a stolen moment and there isn’t long to linger here. Duncan bounces to his feet then offers me his hand. I let him help me up and he pulls me close. Pressing against his chest, my hands resting on his warm skin, I could give myself to him now. I want to, but of course this isn’t the time or place.
Momentary though it might be, it helps. Focusing myself in the moment and not letting my thoughts drift back helps to keep the whispering voice in my head quiet. As we resume our travels the suppressed memories drift through, and with them is the still image of those empty, dead eyes.
Killer. I am the Destroyer.
And beneath the memory, the fear, and the horror of what I did is the thing I really don’t want to see. The part that I can’t admit, even to myself. Beneath all of that is the simplicity that it felt good. I killed a man and some dark part of me liked it.
Duncan takes my hand in his and the rough callouses drag my attention to him, to now, and push aside the darkness. Hand in hand we stride forward, heading towards whatever destiny has in store for us.
* * *
The land is familiar and landmarks I recognize become more common. A large boulder, some standing stones, the shapes of the craggy cliffs all welcome us home. It’s taken three days and more than once we had to travel in the opposite direction of our goal to avoid hunters, but at last we’ve arrived.
Our arrival sparks excitement among the camp. People rush in, clamoring to see Duncan, and most of them seem happy to see us, or Duncan at least. I immediately feel like a third wheel. Rob and the others we rescued returned before us, pushing their way through the crowd. Rob and Duncan, along with the rest, embrace and laugh, exchanging tales.
“What took you so long?” Rob asks. “I thought you were lost for sure, and I’ll be damned if I was going to rescue you again. Once shame on me, twice, well, fuck you.”
“We had to double back more than once,” Duncan says.
Pushed aside, I watch the group form around Duncan. The other young men look on him and Rob with admiration, and surrounding them in small groups of two to four are the young girls all of whom look at the two boys with a mixture of awe and desire.
Jealousy rears its ugly head in a flash, and I barely stop myself from stepping forward but I manage it. I was going to go lay my head on Duncan’s bare chest or grab him and kiss him. It would be silly and unnecessary. I don’t need to put on some public display to claim him. He’s mine and I know it.
“Is that the last of my boys?” Johnne’s voice carries above the crowd and they part, making room for their chief. Johnne strides forward, grabbing Duncan by the shoulders and looking him over with a critical eye. “Duncan.”
“Chief,” Duncan says, bowing his head.
“It’s fine to see you. Only a bit worse for wear I’d say, wouldn’t you?”
“Thanks to Quinn, aye,” Duncan says.
“And where is the lass?” Johnne asks as he turns. “Ach, there you are, girl. Come hither, let me have a good look at you.”
My cheeks and chest burn as the attention of the clan focuses on me. Hands push and I stumble towards the chief, who waits with open arms. His eyes sparkle with joy as he looks me up and down.
“I never thought you’d pull this off,” he says. “But you did it, lass.”
“Rob did most of the work,” I say, finding it difficult to meet his eyes.
I look around the assembled clan rather than at him and the looks I see on their faces are a broad mix going from joy, acceptance, to distrust and accusation. When my gaze lands on Agnes my stomach drops. Her face is a portrait of rage. Her hands ball into fists, she clenches her jaw, and she’s trembling. I quickly look away, not wanting to antagonize her.
“Ah, humble too. Prepare a feast!” Johnne orders. Some cheer but not all, and Johnne doesn’t miss the divide in his people. He turns a circle, looking at each in turn. He scratches his beard then shakes his head. “Is there some disagreement unvoiced?”
They look at each other and there is a murmur that I can’t make out any particular words from, but no one speaks up. Johnne crosses his arms over his barrel chest and waits, impatient. The tension is building and all I personally want is to slip away. I spot Alesoun behind the crowd and the worry on her face makes me even more uneasy.
