When Fate Dictates Page 3

  Eventually, we turned from the waterfall to continue our journey. As we did, I stumbled. A strong hand stopped my fall, gripping me hard under the elbow. I felt a shiver of pleasure at the touch of his hand.

  “Are you alright lass?” His look turned suddenly serious as he let go of my elbow.

  “Aye, thank you, I am fine,” I replied, wondering whether the near fall or the touch of his hand had shaken me. Having steadied myself I looked up at him and noticed the shadows of tension in his face. He met my eyes and drew a deep, steady breath.

  “Tell me lass, have you any other family?” he said, his tone short and irritated. He raised his hands to run them through his hair.

  Shocked by his question, I shook my head in response. “I’ve no one. All the family I had are dead. Why do you ask me?” I replied softly.

  “No particular reason,” he shrugged, but it was obvious from the deep frown on his brow that his question was not a meaningless one. I shot him a look, somewhere between fear and anger.

  “Do you mean to go on without me?” My tone was more demanding than I would have liked and I was staring at him, afraid to hear his reply.

  “No lass, you need not fear, I will not leave you.”

  The moon was high in the sky before we found shelter for the night. The ground was wet and boggy and no matter how often Simon struck the flint he could not get a fire started. I pulled my plaid tighter around me in an effort to ward off the night air. He moved closer, putting his arm around me and drawing me tightly against him.

  “There you are lass, you will be warmer in a bit,” he said, rubbing my shoulders gently with his hands. His arm tightened around me and I felt a deep flush fill my cheeks as I longed to melt against him. I felt the muscles of his arm ripple against me as I relaxed into his embrace.

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. I looked up at him in surprise.

  “What’s wrong, Simon?”

  “Nothing, don’t worry,” he replied, his voice uneasy.

  “Are you ill?” I questioned, concern furrowing my brow.

  “No lass, not ill,” he said, moving his arm from around me and turning toward the small pile of twigs we had collected earlier. Lowering in front of them he struck his flint repeatedly, trying to catch a spark on the damp wood.

  Still unsuccessful, he unbelted his plaid and ripped it irritably from his shoulders. “Here, this will keep you warm. I am going to see if I can find us some dry kindling for a fire. See if you can sleep while I am gone.”

  When I awoke, it was to the dying embers of a small fire at my feet. Simon was lying at my side and the gentle rhythm of his breathing told me he was asleep. Shivering in the cold night air, I sat up and put some more wood on the fire. Draping the plaid he had given me earlier over his shoulders, I drew myself so close to him that I could feel the heat of his body next to mine and drifted contently back to sleep.

  I rose, finally, in the broad light of day to the glorious smells of roasting meat. Simon was sitting in front of a fully stoked fire, on which lay the carcass of another hare, spitted on a carved green stick. I was once again impressed at his resourcefulness and made a mental note to find out how he managed to catch hare so easily. He was smiling down at me when I lifted my eyes to his face.

  “Morning lass, did you sleep well?”

  I nodded dreamily. Suppressing a yawn, I stretched lazily. Using his left hand, Simon reached for a twig which he pushed into the flaming logs. A shower of tiny glowing sparks burst into the morning air and he hastily drew the meat off the fire. Straightening, he raised his left arm and kneaded the taut muscles at the back of his neck.

  “That smells very nice,” I said appreciatively.

  “Well lass, it’s finest Highland mountain hare,” he boasted with a grin. Blowing gently on the meat, he tore joints from the carcass. Extending his arm, he reached across and passed me some meat. I reached out to take it from him, brushing the tips of his fingers with mine as I did. At the shock of his touch, I jerked my hand away as if it were burnt.

  “It’s too hot is it?” he teased, the sides of his mouth twitching slightly.

  “A little,” I lied, juggling the meat between my hands.

  “Oh, aye?” he said in his deep husky voice, cocking one eyebrow at me in amusement. The heat rose up my neck and face as he watched me intently. “Tell me, lass, how old are you?” he eventually asked.

  “Eighteen, why do you ask?” I replied.

  “No reason, only I was thinking you have much to learn of life.”

  “What of it?” I said defensively, “And don’t look at me like that; I am not a child you know.”

  “Oh, aye, wee Corran, I know that well enough,” he said, sliding both hands into the pockets of his trousers. The color burned once more in my cheeks and instinctively I raised my hands to cover them. He moved toward me, kneeling in front of me so close that I could smell the deep musky warmth of his body. Tenderly cupping my wrists in his hands he moved them gently away from my face. “I am a soldier lass, and not innocent in matters of life. Corran, you cannot possibly know... I mean... ” He had whispered my name so quietly I could hardly hear him, and then he broke off, shaking his head and ruffling his hair with his large hands.

  “Know what Simon?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he sighed, tossing the carcass of the hare into the flames of the fire. Looking away uneasily, he pushed himself up with his knees and turned toward a small stream.

  Squatting on his haunches in front of the stream, he peeled his shirt off his shoulders and dropped it to the ground. Bending forwards, he plunged his large steely hands into the cold water of the stream; seconds later he stood drenched. The long black curls of his hair dripped heavy streams of icy water onto the wide expanse of his chest. Small droplets that caught in the dark curling hair in the bulk of his chest glistened in the sunlight. I watched as the taut muscles of his broad shoulders and arms flexed and rippled with each movement of his body. Blushing, I turned away and started to clear our camp.

  It was early afternoon and the mist and fog still hung heavily in the air, trapped in the folds of the mountains around us. Our journey had become more perilous with every day that had passed. I found myself staggering along the icy moor, longing to curl up against the side of a rock and go no further. Chilled and aching, I battled through the snow-covered ground and driving winds. Simon held out his hand to help me up an icy slope but before I could take it, I lost my footing and felt myself falling backwards. With a heavy thud, my head hit a mound of rocks; my arm crushed beneath me as I crumpled painfully to the ground. Dazed, I tried to move, putting my hand out to push myself up, but my arm gave way with the weight of my body. My head throbbed, and I could feel the warmth of blood from the wound as it seeped through the tangled mass of my hair. The sky swirled above me, my eyes fought to focus and I opened my mouth to cry out, but no sound followed. Dimly, I realized that I was about to die. As life drifted from my body and all conscious thought became dreams, my mind instinctively wandered to the snow-covered mountains of my home. Then in those final moments of life, the hazy memory of the silver antlers of the great mountain stag became clearer and I prayed to God that he might send it to me before darkness descended upon my world forever.

  ******

  CHAPTER 4

  Quietly, I heard a distant echo of his voice whispering my name. It slowly drew nearer and louder, until I knew for sure it was him. As the first shock of returning consciousness left me, I became aware of his hands on my shoulders; his face so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my cheeks and the gentle husky rumble of his voice trembled in my ear. I blinked in an effort to focus on his face. His eyes were staring fearfully into mine; deep troubled lines furrowed his brow. I opened my mouth to speak, but he raised a finger gently to my lips.

  “Hush, don’t try to speak.” He sat watching me for some time, gently stroking my hair. I was lying on my back, fighting to clear the thumping agony in my head and the throb of my
arm. I put my arm out to push myself up. “No lass, I will help you to sit up,” he said, sliding his arm behind my back and gently drawing me to his chest. I felt the color drain from my face as a wave of dizziness swayed me slightly against him. I felt the knot of muscles in his arms as they tightened around me. My head relaxed heavily against his chest and I could hear the beat of his racing heart against my ear. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, filling my lungs with icy air. Slowly the nauseating dizziness left me and I straightened myself.

  “I’m alright now,” I said, as I cautiously eased myself away from him.

  “I should think you will have a banging head for a while,” he said, rising to stand in front of me. “How you have come round from that bang I will never know,” he added, with a slight tremble in his voice. Bending toward me, he put his hands around my waist and gently lifted me to my feet. He led me carefully across to the loch side. We knelt by the water’s edge where I cupped my hand and filled it with the clear liquid, then splashed it onto my face and shoulder. The cold water helped to ease the throbbing in my head but my injured arm still hung limply from my shoulder. Looking up into the distance of the moor, I stared blankly at the endless miles we had yet to cover and silently prayed for the strength to see the journey out.

  I was jolted from my thoughts by the sudden appearance on the horizon of a thin gray line of smoke. Grabbing hold of Simon’s arm, my head turned toward his, and I whispered in panic. “Fire.” The hairs on my arms rose and a shiver of terror ran through me. My fingers tightened on his arm as I stood deathly still, hardly daring to breathe. Taking firm hold of my hand he started to run, pulling me behind him. I stumbled as my plaid slipped from my injured shoulder; my feet tangling in its trailing edge. I pulled my hand from Simon’s and grabbed at the woolen weave with my good arm, hoisting it back up over my shoulder. My heart pounded with terror as we dived into the cover of some heather covered rocks. Gasping for breath I sank to the ground. My arm burned and my head throbbed so much it felt as though it would burst. Sitting with my back against a rock for support, I raised my knees and lowered my head onto them. Tears welled in my eyes and I sobbed silently.

  “Don’t cry it’s not as bad as it looks. I have a plan, Corran,” he said, gently resting his hand on my knee. Slowly, I raised my head, wiping my eyes with my hand as I did.

  “So what... what would... that be then?” I choked through sobs.

  “I reckon that smoke belongs to a camp of military transport riders, headed to Blair Castle just over yonder,” he said, pointing into the distance. He grinned broadly and I wondered how he could find the idea of a military camp on our trail a matter to smile about.

  I raised my eyebrows. “You think this is a good thing?”

  He nodded, still smiling. “Oh aye, I reckon it could be a very good thing,” he said. “Will you wait here a while for me?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry your mind with why. Just keep your eyes open and stay still and quiet till I get back.”

  “Where are you going Simon?”

  “As I said, never you mind about what or why, just wait here for me and make sure you are ready when I get back.”

  “Ready for what?” I asked.

  “Just... ready,” he replied unhelpfully.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t treat me like a child,” I hissed.

  “Then stop behaving like one and start listening to me,” he said impatiently. “Here, take my plaid, it will be cold and dark before I get back and you will have need of it. Take this too. I don’t think you will have any use for it though.” He reached into the leather bag and pulled out a dirk I had never seen before. I trembled as I felt the weight of it in my hand and the warmth of the smooth wooden handle against my skin. Slowly, I lowered my hand to my lap, laying the knife cautiously on the folds of my skirt. Sure, I knew how to use a dirk, but only for the skinning of a meal. What if he didn’t come back? My stomach cramped and a ghostly chill ran down my spine at the sudden realization that my life depended completely on him. I forced my mind away from these thoughts; knowing as I did that all I could do was wait and pray for his return – from whatever it was he had gone to do.

  I must have fallen asleep because I awoke in a panic, my hands darting clumsily in the folds of my skirt for the dirk. I hadn’t had time to locate the knife when a hand gripped my arm. I froze as the sound of fear pounded in my head.

  “Didn’t I tell you to be ready?” a deep voice whispered in my ear. I realized to my relief and surprise that Simon had returned.

  “And what do you mean sneaking up on me like that?” I barked, jumping to my feet and swinging angrily round to where I thought his face would be.

  He clapped a hand hard over my mouth from behind me. I fought angrily; shaking my head and clawing at his hand, but it stuck firmly in place. Tears welled in my eyes with the ache in my shoulder as I fought him.

  “Stop fighting me,” he commanded in a strained whisper. I paid him no heed, swinging my leg in an attempt to kick him.

  “Stop. Now!” he whispered his voice dangerous and deep with warning.

  Startled by his tone, I froze, afraid.

  “Corran, we need to go, but we need to do it quietly, do you understand me?” I nodded my head fiercely. He grabbed hold of my arm and gave an impatient tug. “This way,” he said, pulling me along beside him.

  “Where are we going?” I whispered, as he unexpectedly stopped and let go of my arm. Squinting, my eyes adjusted to the darkness to reveal the shadowy silhouette of a horse. Simon joined his hands at the side of the horse.

  “Put your foot on here and get on the horse,” I raised my left foot, resting it in his hand. I pushed myself off the ground with my right foot, allowing him to hoist me onto the horse. Within seconds he was behind me, his thighs pressing tightly against my hips. He leaned forward, and with a click of his tongue and slight flick of the reins, the horse moved. I took hold of the front of the saddle, and tensed my knees against the animal as it rocked us forward. Moving quickly into a gentle trot it gathered speed, breaking its gait evenly from a canter to fearsome gallop. After a few minutes, Simon slowed the horse, pulling hard on the reins. He turned it sharply toward a stream, expertly using his heels and reins to encourage the animal forward. We plunged down a bank and into the stream. I gasped as the cold water leapt around my ankles, soaking my boots and skirt as the horse lumbered its way upstream. Finally, Simon turned the animal and headed for the bank on the far side of the river, guiding the horse upwards. At the top of the bank, he flicked the reins, dug his heels hard into its ribs and clenched his thighs, as we broke once more into a gallop.

  We rode hard through the night air, and I quickly lost all sense of direction. Eventually, as the first glimmers of day began to break in the night sky, Simon pulled on the reins and the creature began to slow its pace. My body relaxed against Simon as the frantic jostling of the ride slowed to a gentle rolling trot. The ground beneath us came into focus and I wondered dimly how far we had traveled.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  I felt his body shake and eventually he laughed out loud. “I have no idea, but I reckon we are far enough out of the way now.”

  “Far enough out of the way of what?” I asked impatiently.

  “You remember that fire we saw? It did belong to the military.”

  “Oh well then, that explains it,” I said sarcastically, feeling too tired and sore to play games.

  He took the reins with his left hand and unhitched a leather saddlebag on the side of the horse. “You see lass, as I expected, they had this in their possession.”

  “What is it?” I asked, my curiosity now fully roused.

  “It’s my wages,” he said simply, “and a few more wages besides, intended for the men I was with. They were expected three weeks ago but we were told the damn riders got themselves lost.”

  “And this horse?” I questioned.

  “Aye, he was theirs too,” he boasted.

/>   “How did you get the money off them then?”

  “It wasn’t that difficult. The guard was too drunk to keep his eyes on the money, so whilst he was snoring, I snuck in and took what I wanted. I expect they will have noticed by now though,” Simon replied, obviously pleased with himself. He brought the horse to a gentle halt on the edge of a loch, dismounting swiftly. “I think we should let the creature rest a while.”

  Following his lead, I slid cautiously off the horse and landed hard on my feet, crying out with pain as the jolt tore at my injured shoulder. The thudding in my head had also returned and I raised my good arm to rest my hand soothingly over my forehead. My clothes hung limply on me, soaked from the river crossing, and my boots squelched as I took my first tentative steps in hours on solid ground. Thoroughly exhausted and trembling with pain, I bent down and removed the sodden boots from my feet; balancing them carefully on top of a rock to dry, in what I hoped would prove to be a warm, morning sun.

  Meanwhile, Simon was rooting fervently through the saddlebags, sporting a look of triumphant delight as he did so. Curiously, I moved over to see what was in the bags. He handed me a flask and I opened it, sniffing at its content dubiously.

  “You don’t trust it?” he laughed, raising his eyebrows.

  “Mmm, I’m not sure what it is.”

  “I should think it's whisky,” he broke off, taking the flask from me and waving it under his nose. “Probably not as good as what we had before.” Tipping the flask, he filled his mouth and swallowed hard. “But it is whisky nonetheless.”

  Persuaded – and in need of something to dull my pain – I took a tentative sip, gasping as the fumes constricted my throat.

  “You still not used to whisky then?” he teased, as a broad grin filled his face. Unable to respond immediately, I shot him a sharp angry glare. “You may have supped the odd dram lass, but you definitely are not used to drinking,” he said, not waiting for my reply.