Читать книгу The Knight's Broken Promise - Nicole Locke - Страница 13

Chapter Five

He was going to leave. Gaira could see it in his eyes. She felt a moment of panic before she relaxed again. His hands were tied. How was he supposed to go?

She glanced at the children. Creighton looked as though he might murder Robert. Flora looked as though she might cry from fear. Alec, bless him, looked happy just to be there. Maisie’s big eyes absorbed everything around her. At such a tender age, she had seen too much.

She couldn’t soothe the children’s feelings, which had to be just as confused as her own. She had just brought an Englishman to the camp and the English had slaughtered their families. Had killed her sister. She choked on the grief clogging her throat.

She couldn’t risk letting him out of her sight. ‘You must be hungry. Would you like some food?’ she asked.

He looked to the children as if they had some say, but they were quiet. They knew something was held in the balance.

He nodded and she released her held breath.

* * *

Sobbing.

Gaira woke. The sun was just cresting the hills and it cast the morning mist a milky white. When had she fallen asleep? Late, but it should not have happened.

She moved slowly, careful not to wake Maisie and Alec, who were snuggled against her.

Broken words. Nightmares again.

With the crisp wind biting her cheeks, she tucked her shawl around the children and turned to Flora and Creighton, who slept closer to the fire.

Flora was awake, crying, frantically patting her brother’s shoulders.

Creighton made not a sound, but his entire body keened of the demons trapped inside. This nightmare was worse than the last.

She gently laid her hand on Flora, who jumped. ‘Let me,’ she asked.

Flora shifted away from her brother, her hands locked tight in her lap.

Singing very low, Gaira gently brushed Creighton’s brow until his breathing eased and his body slumped. Singing helped. She had startled him awake before and wouldn’t do it again.

Slowly, Creighton’s body eased and when he woke, he looked surprised that Gaira was there.

Smiling, she stood. The cold wind whipped around her and she wrapped her arms around her waist. Then froze.

Robert was sitting and staring at her. She became aware of the arch of his brow, the shape of his nose, the colour of his deep brown eyes.

She was no longer aware of the children or the biting wind. All she could feel were his eyes. She thought he hid himself just under the surface, but now everything she ever wanted to know about the world, about him, was right there. Without blinking, his eyes became opaque, the brown turning flat.

She felt as though she had been pushed from a summer brook to the cold sand of shore with no chance of submerging back to the warmth.

Acutely self-conscious, she looked to Maisie and Alec, wrapped tightly in her only shawl. She glanced again.

He looked angry and more than frightening.

His hair was a beautiful shade of brown, but it was long, unkempt and fell in deep waves to his shoulders. It looked soft and wild at the same time. She followed each strand, each curve of each wave. A strange tingling in her palms occurred. Nervousness again?

Trying to calm her suddenly heightened nerves, she unwrapped her arms and raised her chin against him. Without her arms, the wind plastered her tunic and leggings tight against her body. ’Twasn’t decent, but it couldn’t be helped. She wouldn’t show her nervousness.

His eyes flickered; his frown deepened. Aye, he was frightening. She couldn’t believe she’d invited him to their camp.

His entire appearance indicated he couldn’t be bothered with a comb, frippery or anything to make him pleasing to the eye. He wore a beard, like a Scot, but his did not have pretty plaits to keep it tidy—his was full, waving and long. If it wasn’t the same beautiful colour, she’d have thought him an old man.

‘We’ll need food,’ he said.

The timbre of his voice was clipped, abrupt, the tenor still too pleasing.

Stray curls swept across her face, blinding and stinging her eyes, but she did not push them away. ‘I’ve set some traps.’ She waved her hand in the direction of the trees. ‘We haven’t had much luck. Our baits have been—’

He interrupted her and gestured with his tied arms. ‘I can get food if you untie me.’

Arrogant. She looked at his hands, which she had tied in the front so he could relieve himself. He must think her small bit of kindness meant weakness. He would soon learn otherwise.

‘You need to eat,’ he continued.

She took several steps closer to him. He continued to sit and was forced to look up at her. He should have looked diminished to her. But his eyes remained too steady and the tilt of his chin too proud.

Who was he? An English solider—a nobleman, too, she suspected.

His clothes were fine, rich, but he wore all black. Not a bit of ornamentation or colour. Except for a gold ring, he dressed plainly as if he had no money. But he travelled with a jewelled dagger, two swords and a pouch weighted with coins. Such costly items spoke of great wealth. She had never known a wealthy man to go without ornamentation on his clothing. Even her brothers wore a bit of this, a bit of that.

‘You think me gluttonous enough to risk our lives by releasing you?’ she retorted.

‘Your taking my weapons and tying my hands is but a false sense of security,’ he answered. ‘If I wanted to harm any of you, I would have.’

‘I haven’t given you the chance, Englishman.’ She pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘And I won’t. Ever.’

‘Aye?’ he answered, his voice gone softer. ‘And the times you closed your eyes last night? Those moments weren’t enough for me to strike?’

Oh, aye, he was arrogant and just a bit too frightening. He was sitting, he was tied and yet he was still intimidating. Worse, she feared, he also spoke the truth. She had fallen asleep a time or two last night.

She was these children’s only guardian and she was all too aware of how little protection she was. Even more so for bringing this man to their camp. He might not have slaughtered their kin, but she knew he’d killed others. There was no other reason an Englishman would be here. It was not safe to release him.

‘You need to eat, Gaira,’ he continued. ‘And so do the children.’

The fight, if there was any, went out of her. They did need to eat. Desperately and in great quantity. Their traps did not work and the fires had scared most of the animals away.

He seemed to sense the change in her and stood.

‘What promise do I have?’ she asked.

‘None that you’d believe,’ he said, his lips curling at the corners. ‘But I have to eat, too, and maybe that is enough.’

She searched every nuance of his face. What she saw wasn’t quite a smile, but it wanted to be. ‘Maybe that is enough.’ She untied his knots. ‘But the moment you take your sword and dagger, leave this camp. I won’t let the children see a weapon in your hands.’

She didn’t wait to see him go, but grabbed the kindling to rearrange the fire. She sensed his departure and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

He was gone and there was no reason he should return. She trusted him, which made her all the more nervous because he had done nothing to deserve that trust.

He was a nobleman that kept his hair like a peasant and hid the wealth from his clothes. He was an enigma, obscure, as if trying to hide something of himself and personify another.

There was something he hid just under the surface like a river. She pushed her hair behind her ear again. And one she had no time to contemplate. Maisie would need feeding, changing, and the leather skein would need filling for water to boil.

And she would have to explain to the children that they were on their own again.

* * *

Busby threw together the few supplies needed and walked down the narrow stone stairs of his keep.

The rushes in his hall squished under him and even in the dim lighting the grease-splattered walls and thrown bones from previous meals were visible. He breathed in the smell of damp wood and rotting meat and couldn’t wait to get outside. But his three youngest were crawling on the ground and prodding the rushes with sticks.

‘What do you three do inside on a fine day as this? You should be outside.’

Delight widened their eyes before they rushed to their feet and surrounded his arms and legs. Wiping away his impatience for the delay, he roared, ‘What do we have here?’ They giggled and gripped him even tighter.

Familiar with this game, he crouched down and they immediately climbed on top of him. He lifted all three and clumsily walked outside, where he shook them off.

‘What were you doing on your hands and knees?’ he asked.

The oldest of the three stepped forward eagerly. His heart swelled as he realised it was his daughter Fyfa. She was a brave lass.

‘Papa, we’re removing vermin, just like you wanted!’ she exclaimed.

‘Vermin?’

‘Aye, we heard you wanted to remove the vermin from Scotland, so we thought we’d help you.’

Busby snorted and blinked his eyes. ‘You’re good children, you are, and do your papa proud, but I doona want you crawling. ’Tis not becoming of your station.’

‘But, Papa—’

‘I’ll be obeyed in this. Where is Lioslath? She is to be taking care of you.’

Fyfa pulled a face. ‘She’s cleaning the stables.’

‘Hmmm,’ he growled. His wilful oldest daughter had run the keep since his second wife had died. But she never took care of the softer things, like clean rushes or good food. Always with the horses or in the fields, she was unfit for any marriage although she was of marriageable age.

If only he had a wife!

‘Get along now. I doona want to see you cleaning again.’ He shoved them all towards the fields and waited until they were away before he headed to the stables.

He kicked the rocks at his feet. Blast his betrothed for running! She acted as if she didn’t want to be wed. But wed her he must. He had made a deal with her no-good lying brothers and he would make sure she kept it.

When he had received the invitation from the Colquhouns to meet their sister for a possible betrothal, he had thought they were joking. Everyone in the region knew his second wife had died years ago and had left him with children and a poor keep. No one had ever approached him as a suitor and he had long ago stopped his own fruitless pursuits.

It all should have made him suspicious, but when he had seen their clean profitable castle, tasted well-spiced fare and had been offered twenty sheep, he was eager to get the deal done. Fool that he was.

When his intended had finally been presented to him, her face was puffy and splotched red. Despite this, he assured himself he had made a fine deal and had packed her up along with her belongings.

Now she had run away and before he could even show her the keep or his children!

His keep needed order and a wife could do it. Aye, a wife could order clean rushes and have bread made without stones.

And his children needed a mother. His children had good Scottish blood on the inside, but even to him their outsides needed some polishing. It was too late for his eldest daughter, Lioslath, to be made into a lady. Yet Fyfa, only seven, still had a chance.

And what of his clan? They expected him to return with a rich bride and twenty sheep. He had the sheep, but without the bride, he’d have to return them.

There were only two places she could be. She was only a woman, after all. Weak-hearted and a Colquhoun at that. She wouldn’t last on her own, which meant she was either on her way north and his snivelling messenger had missed her, or on her way south as her brothers had suggested.

He was confident if she returned to her brothers, they would bring her to heel. In these turbulent times, they would not want a feud between their clans.

But if she was south it would be he alone who would capture her. He allowed the pleasure of revenge to course through him.

Aye, he would catch her. At the least, the ride south would give him time to think of the punishment that would not hamper her use to him.