Page 38 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER FIVE

I sabeau woke to the smell of smoke. She didn’t know when she had managed to fall asleep, but it felt as though she had hardly gotten any rest. Her head was pounding, a headache nestling deep into her bones, and her entire body ached from the exertion and the cold. The worst were her legs and her feet—never before had she experienced such excruciating pain, and she didn’t know how she could possibly keep moving.

When she pushed herself up to her elbows, she found out just how stiff she was, her limbs refusing to cooperate with her. All she wanted was some more rest, but now that she had opened her eyes, she knew she wouldn’t get any. Besides, light streamed into the hut from all directions, the crumbling walls letting in the sunlight, and it seemed to her that it was already quite late in the day. Sooner or later, they would have to get moving.

Her gaze took in her surroundings properly for the first time. She looked around the hut in the morning light, noticing the dying embers of the fire Tiernan had lit, the large, looming cracks in the walls, the debris that had gathered on the floor. In the far corner, in a spot of shadow, she could have sworn there was a mouse and she recoiled, hoping it was simply the light playing tricks on her.

Reluctantly, she dragged her gaze over to Tiernan, who was sitting by the fire once again, even though it couldn’t possibly be offering him any warmth. His back was to her and though he didn’t acknowledge her, she knew he was aware of her. He seemed to have a sense for this kind of thing.

He seemed weary, more so than she had ever seen him. His shoulders were curving in, his spine collapsing into itself. His head was bowed and he was staring straight ahead, into the little flames that still burned, his entire body in absolute stillness.

“I cannae be travellin’ with someone who is afraid o’ me,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “If we are tae spend all this time together, I need ye tae trust me.”

Isabeau didn’t speak. She didn’t know what she could possibly say to this. How could she trust him when she knew about his past? How could she get over her fear when she knew he had hurt people?

But Lucia had hurt people, too, an’ she’s nae a bad person. She only did what she had tae dae tae survive.

Perhaps the same was true for Tiernan. After all, he had had the chance that night to attack her if he so pleased, and yet Isabeau had woken up entirely unharmed. He had no reason to try and gain her trust if he planned on hurting her.

Unless he thinks gainin’ me trust will only make it easier fer him tae harm me.

Her mind was torn between the two extremes, neither side of her willing to see reason. She was caught in the middle of all this and her panic had long since taken over. Her heart had not stopped racing ever since she and Tiernan had been taken from the forge, and she didn’t know how to calm herself. She had simply surrendered to the fact that she would have to spend the near future in constant, unceasing panic.

Tiernan turned then to look at her, pinning her with his piercing eyes. In the light of the morning, they seemed more blue than grey, giving him a softer look, though Isabeau was still intimidated by his glance.

“Ask what ye wish tae ken,” he said. “I will answer tae the best o’ me ability.”

Tiernan sounded honest enough. Perhaps all of his responses would be lies, things to make her feel better about their situation, but Isabeau wanted to believe he wouldn’t try to deceive her, even if in the end, it might have been for her own good. She had so many questions to ask him, so many things she needed to know. She didn’t even know where to start.

There had been one thought in her mind, though, which had been bothering her ever since she had first met Tiernan and Alaric had told her he would be working in the castle as a blacksmith.

“How many people have ye killed?”

Tiernan sighed, a hand coming up to run through his dark hair. It was disheveled that morning, strands flying in all directions, though Isabeau had never imagined that his usual level of dishevelment could get even worse.

She supposed she didn’t look much better. After a restless night and a trek through the woods for hours, she was certainly not looking her best. Though the cold had helped her remain dry, no sweat dripping down her skin as she walked, she was still caked in mud and in desperate need of a bath.

“I didnae keep count,” he said.

It sounded like a lie.

“But ye’ve killed people.”

“Och aye.”

Isabeau didn’t know what she had expected to hear. Naturally, a brigand would have killed people and the mere fact that Tiernan was reluctant to name a number meant there were plenty of victims in his past. His admission didn’t quite put her at ease, but at least now she knew for certain.

“Why did ye become a brigand?”

Perhaps it was a bit of a silly question. Isabeau didn’t know if there was anyone out there who wanted to be a brigand. Surely if there was, then that person was vile, but she wanted to believe most of them were thrust into circumstances beyond their control, and she imagined that was true for Tiernan as well. She wanted to know his story, though. She wanted to know what could have possibly happened to him that had left him no other choice.

“I was an orphan,” he said, his voice carrying just the barest hint of strain. “Me parents died when I was a wee bairn an’ I hardly kent them. I dinnae really remember either o’ them. I went tae live with me grandmaither an’ fer a while, everythin’ was fine. We werenae rich, but we had few struggles.”

Isabeau could imagine him as a young boy. She could imagine him playing in his grandmother’s garden, innocent, without a care in the world. She could imagine him grieving the parents he had never known, always living with that void inside him.

Her chest constricted as though a giant beast’s hand wrapped around her torso and squeezed with no mercy. She wished there was something she could say to comfort him, but what words could possibly help?

She knew what it was like to lose one’s parents. She knew the pain and the grief that came with it, which never truly faded, but at least she had met hers, she remembered them, she had something of them.

“But then she died, too,” Tiernan said and it was then that he choked up a little, swallowing with an audible click. “She… she was very old. We both kent she didnae have many years but she always hoped she would live long enough tae care fer me until I could care fer meself.”

“But she didnae?”

Tiernan shook his head.

Isabeau couldn’t even begin to grasp the enormity of losing three loved ones in such quick succession and being left all alone in the world. At least when her parents had died, she had had her brothers and her extended family. From the sound of it, Tiernan had no one. After his grandmother’s death, he had been left all alone to fend for himself, a child who could do little other than steal to survive.

“I’m sure ye can imagine the rest,” he said. “The world isnae particularly kind tae orphans.”

Isabeau couldn’t imagine how the world could be such a cruel place. She didn’t want to think of Tiernan’s words as true, but the proof was right there, in front of her. Besides, how many times had she seen orphans in the villages she had briefly visited while travelling to other clans? How many of them had she seen in the streets, cold and hungry and neglected by everyone around them? And every time, when she tried to help, to offer some food or coin, the villagers were often quick to caution her against it, claiming they would only pester her for more.

The world was heartless. She had always known there were bad people, killers and thieves and men who hurt their wives, but she had never given much thought to the casual cruelty displayed by people. The product of that cruelty was sitting in front of her.

“I’m sorry, Tiernan,” Isabeau said softly. She stood from the cot and even as pain shot up her legs when she walked over to him, she did not grimace as she sat down on the floor next to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Immediately, Tiernan flinched as though he expected something much worse than a gentle touch, but just as Isabeau was about to withdraw her hand, thinking she had made a grave mistake, he relaxed into it with a deep sigh.

“It is what it is,” he said. It was as though a wall surrounding him had been erected once more, hiding the vulnerability he had just shown her. Isabeau didn’t know how he could do it. She could hide her pain, but every other emotion was often plainly written on her face, while Tiernan was a blank wall. “Anythin’ else ye wish tae ken?”

Isabeau had spent enough time playing the diplomat that she knew when it was time to let go of a subject and change the direction of the conversation. Insisting on talking about Tiernan’s family would only hurt him more, so she tried to think of another question to ask him.

“The sword,” she said. “What were ye talking about with Beag?”

Tiernan chuckled, though it wasn’t a particularly humorous sound. “It was me faither’s,” he said. “Beag stole it an’ I tried tae purchase it back from him. I really did. I dinnae even ken why I tried tae pay fer it. I was already a thief by then, but I… I dinnae ken. I suppose I thought Faither wouldnae be very happy with me if he kent I was a dishonorable man an’ that was me way o’ atonin’ fer it. But he was bein’ unreasonable with the price. I think he simply didnae want me tae have it.” He shook his head as though he could hardly believe it himself. “When Beag wouldnae give it tae me, I tried tae steal it an’ he caught me.”

Just like that, Isabeau was outraged.

“What dae ye mean?” she asked, jaw clenching hard as she stood, her indignation almost uncontainable. “He stole it from ye! An’ then he had the nerve tae be angry that ye tried tae steal it back? That’s yer sword! It belongs tae ye!”

Isabeau’s voice echoed off the crumbling walls as she shouted, loud enough to cover the sound of the wind. For a moment, Tiernan gaped up at her, too surprised by her outburst to say a thing, but then he burst out laughing.

It was Isabeau’s turn to be surprised. He was laughing and laughing, his entire body shaking with mirth, and she found her anger evaporating, quickly replaced with confusion. She didn’t think this was a laughing matter at all. Beag Sinclair had wronged him and now he had the gall to force him to work for him when he had been the one to steal the sword in the first place.

Slowly, Tiernan recovered, his laughter fading. He rubbed a hand over his face, gathering his bearings, and then when he looked up at Isabeau, there was still amusement in his eyes.

“Well, he isnae exactly an honest man,” he pointed out. “Anyway, he didnae steal it himself. One o’ his men did an’ then it got tae his hands. So I suppose he doesnae see it the way ye dae.”

“That makes nae difference,” Isabeau insisted. “That sword is rightfully yers!”

Tiernan leaned back on his hands, looking up at Isabeau with a smirk. For a moment, she forgot all about her anger, struck by the handsome picture he made like that, in that frankly cocky stance, under the soft light of the morning sun. Even disheveled as he was after a trek in the woods and a night on the floor, his beauty and his charm stopped Isabeau dead in her tracks until she couldn’t look away from him.

It must have been some kind of sorcery, she decided. Surely, no one looked that good first thing in the morning, and she was beginning to feel self-conscious about her own looks as she gazed at him. What did she look like? There were no maids around to fix her hair, no one to powder her nose, no one to bring her a new, clean outfit.

Och! I dae hope he doesnae find me repulsive! But then, why should I care?

She was losing sight of what was important just because Tiernan had a way with charming people. It went past his looks. There was a certain quality to him, to the way he smiled and the way he looked at others, which made him instantly likeable to women. Isabeau had caught glimpses of it in the castle, the maids who often approached him, but she had never thought she would fall victim to the same trap.

I must focus! This isnae the time fer an infatuation!

The time for an infatuation was in the castle, when she was too bored by everything else and needed something to occupy her mind. Now, with this danger looming over them, she had to think about survival for the first time in her life.

As if on cue, her stomach grumbled loudly and immediately, her cheeks heated in embarrassment. Tiernan only chuckled, pushing himself up to his feet.

“I believe we must find ye somethin’ tae eat, me lady,” he said. “I would hate tae see ye waste away because I neglected yer needs.”

This isnae helpin’!

If only Tiernan knew the effect his words had on her. But no, that would be terribly embarrassing, Isabeau thought. The last thing she needed was for him to find out that she was starting to be a little too curious about him.

She could focus on the food for the time being—or rather on sourcing it, as she didn’t know Tiernan’s plan. Where would they even find food in the middle of the woods? Or would they have to find a village first? But then how would they pay?

All the unknowns were causing her a headache. Usually, she went to the great hall and was served breakfast. There was no thought process behind it, nothing she had to solve.

Had it not been for Tiernan, she didn’t know how she would survive. Nor did she know how he had managed to survive on his own as a child.