Page 36 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)

Twenty-seven

W hy did she have to be so damned stubborn?

Colin tightened his hold on his reins and cast another stealthy glance Abby’s direction.

She sat her horse well enough, though her back slumped a bit more than it had in the first hours of their ride.

Her face showed the strain of their long day in the saddle but she rode on, refusing to admit a need to stop and rest.

“There’s a place no too far ahead where we’ll set up camp for the night.”

Relief flashed across her face, but she quickly suppressed any evidence of the emotion, giving him a solemn nod to show her agreement.

“You don’t have to stop for me. We’ve still got daylight ahead of us. I can keep going as long as we need to.”

Stubborn woman. Brazen and demanding. In all fairness, he had to give her credit, too, for her wit and intelligence as well.

Far too intelligent for her own good, perhaps.

Charitable and forgiving, too, though it galled him to admit these last qualities. Admitting them forced him to face his own shortcomings.

He’d awakened early, even before the first rays of the sun had made their appearance. Using great care to avoid waking Abby, he’d dressed and silently gathered his things.

Nothing he’d tried the night before had worked to convince her to stay behind, so all that was left to him was to go while she slept. Once it was done, there would be nothing she could do about it.

Quietly, ever so quietly, he’d opened the door to their bedchamber and attempted to slip away, only to stumble over her legs and land beside her on the hard stone floor.

“I knew you’d try that,” she’d said, her disappointment in him palpable.

He’d made one last desperate appeal to her and the whole of his family, all to no avail. As if in a great conspiracy against common sense, they all agreed she should accompany him.

And accompany him she did. Without a single reference to his deceit and trickery. Without a single word of rebuke. In truth, with almost no words at all. She’d simply sat on her horse the whole of the long day, never once complaining.

Not even now.

“I’ve no a doubt you could carry on endlessly, wife, but the horses grow weary after such a long day.”

Her eyes cut to him and away, as they did each time he called her by that appellation. He found he rather enjoyed it, both the sound of the word itself and her reaction to it. He hid his unexpected need to smile in explanation.

“We have more light than we ken what to do with in our summers. The light outlasts the stamina of our mounts. They need rest in order to carry us tomorrow.”

A little farther on, he directed them from the road through the trees and to a sheltered spot by a fast-flowing stream. There he dismounted and led his horse to a grassy area, looping the animal’s reins around a branch within reach of the water, all the while keeping a close watch on Abby.

She was slow to dismount, stumbling when her feet hit the ground.

“Do you need help?” he called, knowing before he asked she’d refuse.

She didn’t disappoint.

“You just worry about yourself. I’m fine.” With a hand at her lower back, she stiffly led her mount over to join his.

“I’ll gather kindling and start the fire if you want to carry our foodstuffs and blankets over to that flat area by the rocks.”

She nodded, her fingers already fumbling with the ties on her pack. “Fire? We’re not cooking, are we? Why do we need a fire this early?”

“It’s later than you realize, Abby. And after the hours we’ve spent traveling today, sleep will likely overtake us as soon as we finish our meal.

The fire will burn down, but the rocks I’ll place around it will give off heat during the night.

Dinna fear, wife, we’ll have plenty of cold dark nights ahead of us on this journey, but for now, there’s no a need to forgo a fire. ”

Wordlessly, she returned to unlacing the pack on her mount’s back and taking it to the area he’d indicated. She returned to fetch his as he headed into the trees.

It was a dry year in the Highlands, bad for the sheep and the shepherds, but welcome for his needs at the moment. Dry underbrush and twigs meant he could easily gather the fuel he needed for their fire without having to lose sight of Abby.

Not that he actually expected any trouble here.

He could easily feel that they were alone in this remote area.

When he let down his barriers, Abby’s was the only soul he felt for miles.

He concentrated and allowed his senses to expand.

Like a bird in flight, his mind flew through a foreign landscape of colors, ignoring the tortured calls of the souls he bypassed.

Farther on he explored, following the two familiar patterns that glowed like a beacon on the horizon.

Alasdair and Simeon both lived, their lonely, broken souls shining as brightly as ever.

He prayed that they might stay that way until he could reach them.

Even without Abby to slow his progress, time was against him, conspiring to keep him from reaching his kinsmen until after the battle at Methven.

Too late for that perhaps, but not too late to warn his king of what was to come, no matter what his family had said.

Arms full, he rejoined Abby, settling in to the work of building their fire in silence. The flames were just beginning to lick hungrily around the dry tinder when she stood.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

He was on his feet before she finished pushing away the first branches. “Where do you think yer going?” he demanded of her retreating back.

“To do my girl thing in the bushes.”

He didn’t care for the idea of having her out of his sight. “Would you like me to come stand guard as you—”

“Absolutely not!” she interrupted, her eyes widening in shock. “Relax. I’ll scream real loud if I need you. I promise.”

Of that he had no doubt. His Abby was not one to go down without a fight. Besides, he’d scanned the area and knew there wasn’t a single person close enough to cause her any harm.

He’d barely had time to sit before another worry replaced the last. No people, perhaps, but there could well be animals. He was back on his feet, moving in the direction she’d disappeared in, when he heard her returning.

They’d need to work on her ability to move more stealthily if they planned to go undetected once they reached more populated areas.

Night had firmly settled her cloak over the land by the time they’d finished their meal of bread, cheese, and meat.

Abby spread out her blanket close to the fire and sat down, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “You were right. It does get a lot cooler when it gets dark. I’m glad you built the fire rather than listen to me.”

As if he would have allowed her to talk him into something so foolish.

He untied the strings on his blanket and crossed to her side of the fire, rolling out his bedding and laying it next to hers.

“What are you doing? I don’t need you to sleep next to me. I’m not afraid of the dark, you know.”

“The cold,” he patiently explained. “We’ll be more comfortable sleeping closer together as the temperature continues to drop.” Not to mention, he’d be more comfortable having her well within his reach throughout the night.

“Okay. I can accept that.” She rolled over, presenting her back to him, and pulled her blanket up over her ear, leaving only the top of her head peeking out.

He settled down next to her, contenting himself with listening to the gentle, lulling cadence of her breathing.

He pushed back the accusing finger of guilt that prodded at his chest with each new sign of exhaustion Abby displayed.

He could have led them in a more westerly track so that they would have spent their first night at the home of his sister and her husband.

It would have meant the loss of a day’s travel time, but there would have been a warm bed at the end of their journey.

He’d avoided it on purpose. He didn’t have a day to spare. Not even for her comfort.

“How will you know where to find your friends?” Her voice was muffled by the blanket she’d pulled around her. “I mean, if the battle is over by the time we reach them, how will you know if they’re still alive? And if they are and they’ve moved on, how will you know where to look for them?”

He considered ignoring her, pretending to sleep, but his gut told him he’d tried deceit on Abby too often as it was.

“I’m cursed,” he said simply. “The only positive aspect of my curse is that it will allow me to track Dair and Sim no matter where they go, as long as they are alive.” And if they’d died because he was too slow, he’d know that, too.

“Cursed, huh?” She rolled over to face him, her head propped up on her arm. “I want to hear about that. Cursed, how? Tell me the whole story. How did you end up cursed?”

And so he told her. Everything. Every facet of his fateful encounter with the Faerie Queen.

He described to her what he’d seen, what he’d heard, even what he’d felt that day, details he’d shared with no one else in all these years.

Why he told her, he couldn’t say, other than that she had asked and he had found himself with no desire to deny her.

At one point she’d closed her eyes and he thought she might have fallen asleep, but when he stopped talking, she urged him to continue.

“I can almost see it in my imagination when I listen to your descriptions,” she said, and he found himself trying harder to find the perfect words to describe every detail.

“And what of you, wife?” he asked at last. “What are the gifts carried in yer Faerie blood?”

“I don’t really have any gifts.” She rolled to her back and cushioned her head with her arms. “I’d tell you I didn’t have any Faerie blood, either, but then I’d be at a total loss to explain how the heck I ended up here, wouldn’t I?”

The fire’s dying embers cast a glowing backdrop for her profile, encouraging him to drink in the sight of her lying there with her eyes closed. He searched for something to ask, anything that might set her to talking so he could soak in the sound of her voice.

“How is it you came to be digging in the earth for worn-out trinkets in the Highlands of Scotland?”

Her lips curved into a smile that beckoned him. Only with great restraint was he able to resist reaching out and pulling her to him when she pushed herself up to sit.

“A dream called me. Sounds crazy, right? From the time I was a kid, I loved old things. My grandmother’s yellowed teacups, antiques stores, museums, you name it.

The older, the better. By the time I hit middle school, I figured I must be meant to be an archaeologist. Always in my dreams there was one special ancient treasure calling out to me, waiting just for me to come to Scotland to find it.

So when I got the chance, I jumped at it.

” She yawned, her jaw stretching wide, followed by a relaxed little sigh.

“If I have any gift, I guess it’s finding stuff.

When I look for things, it’s as if I can hear them calling to me, tempting me with their stories and their histories.

Things, mind you. Not people. Send me after any thing and I can find it. ”

They’d talked late into the night. Time that should have been spent in sleep. Still, he’d not trade those moments with her. Not even for a well-rested tomorrow.

“We should get some rest now,” he assured her while lifting her blanket for her to lie back down.

Instead she leaned forward, placing the lightest of kisses on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For letting me inside those walls of yours.”

The blanket fell unnoticed as he pulled her close, his lips covering hers. He hadn’t intended anything of the sort, but in the moment, he had no choice.

Far from protesting, her hands slid into his hair and she pressed against him even as he lowered her to her back, covering her body with his.

The kiss deepened and he shoved at the yards of cloth she wore, urging her skirts up and out of his way. Her legs parted and he fit himself into the cradle she formed, pressing against her welcoming heat.

His fingers tightened on the blighted undergarment she wore. One sharp tug and he’d be home.

“Shit!” she squealed, her hands shoving at his chest even as she squirmed her way out from under him. “Holy shit!”

His breath came in great sharp gulps as he pushed up to his knees, guilt and anger warring at his own lack of control, battering him with each beat of his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, unable to meet her gaze until she pounded her fist into his chest.

“There!” she squeaked, “in the trees. He’s in the trees.”

Colin was on his feet, sword drawn, before she managed her next words.

“It was Jonathan. I swear to God, Colin, I saw Jonathan watching us.”