A Warrior's Promise (3 page)

“How far did you follow?”

There was no reason to tell him that the troop had divided along the trail. And she, not having known which path her da was on, had chosen one to follow that had proven to be the wrong one. So she told him the point where the path divided.

“It was near Loch Lochy, and I've had no luck in finding out anything about him since.”

Bryce stood. “We have much to do. We must find out where your da is being kept and follow the leads I have discovered about the spy.”

Charlotte scrambled to her feet. “Being small and thin, I can slip in and around places most cannot. I hear and see things while not being heard or noticed.”

Bryce chuckled. “Good, for I cannot.”

“You are a big one,” she said with a smile, recalling the glance she got of him while holding on for dear life to his leg.

Bryce placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Size does not matter.”

Charlotte warned herself to hold her tongue, but she supposed she was too much like her father—curious. So she asked, “Then large bosoms don't matter?”

Bryce grinned. “Large bosoms matter, lad, they definitely matter.”

It was good to know the warrior preferred large-breasted women. Her bosoms were barely a handful. It had taken only one strip of cloth to bind them. She had no worry that even if he discovered her secret, he would find her appealing.

She was glad she had gotten a look at his privates. He was much too large, and she too small for them to fit. She didn't know why she even gave it a thought. There were more important things to consider.

Charlotte hurried along behind him, which didn't help, the image of what lay beneath his plaid much too vivid in her mind.

Chapter
3

T
hey had
walked in relative silence for almost three hours. Charlotte could tell by
Bryce's drawn brow and few remarks that he was deep in thought. So she felt it
wise not to disturb him even though she was anxious to inquire about their
destination.

There were more questions on her tongue, which she
bit to keep silent, though for how long she didn't know. She knew that the
rescue of the spy was more important than that of her da, but she trusted the
Highlander's word that he would help her. She wondered if he had a plan or was
just formulating one or perhaps adjusting it to include her father.

Then there was her worry of keeping up with him.
While his powerful strides were not fast, they were anxious. And he did not
allow the rocky and hilly terrain to deter him. She, on the other hand,
accustomed to traveling leisurely on foot, taking time to not only regard but
learn from her surroundings, found the pace fretful.

How would they ever take notice of anything if they
did not slow down and observe? What if there were signs they were missing? The
thought that a broken branch, a misplaced rock, a footprint could help direct
them finally had her losing her patience and stopping abruptly.

“Where do we go?”

Bryce did not glance back; he kept walking. “A
small village about a day's walk.”

Charlotte hurried up beside him, taking two steps
to his one. “Why?”

“I've learned that the king's soldiers have been
more active than usual in a particular area and that someone in the village
might know the reason why. It's also not far from Loch Lochy.”

He needn't say more; Charlotte was pleased that he
was also considering her da.

“We'll find you a bow and arrows while there. What
of a dirk? Can you handle one?”

“Fair enough,” she said.

“Your father taught you the use of weapons
well.”

She grinned. Her father had insisted she learn the
rudiments of handling a dirk, for her protection. And as for her skill with a
bow, it had come easily, and her father had encouraged her as he always did.
Knowledge, he had told her, gave one self-worth. And he had been right. She had
the confidence to take on this task, and, while her ruse could eventually pose a
problem, she'd find a way to handle it.

“We'll find a spot to bed down for the night,
preferably by water. It's been a while since I had a dunk and could use one.”
Bryce shot her a glance. “You could use one yourself.”

Charlotte just grunted. There was no way she was
shedding her garments, and as for the dirt and grime? They served a purpose. If
she scrubbed herself clean, she'd have the fresh look of a pretty lassie, or so
she'd been told by a few warriors in the various clans where she and her da had
taken temporary shelter.

She hadn't encouraged them, not being at all
interested. Her father had suggested she at least converse with them, see what
it was she liked and disliked in a man. She hadn't bothered to tell him that
with one look she could see that not a one was for the likes of her. While she
admired strength and bravery in a man, she also looked for intelligence. Not
that all the men who had approached her were dim-witted, they were fairly
intelligent from the little she could tell of them. They simply were not
interesting, unlike Bryce who, from the very moment she had latched onto him,
proved appealing.

The thought gave her a start, and she almost
tripped over her own feet. She glared at his broad back, her eyes traveling down
the length of him, refusing to let her musing wander where it wanted to go,
between his legs.

Between his legs
.

Her cheeks flamed red, and she shook her head.
Whatever was the matter with her? Where were these sinful thoughts coming from?
She had
barely
laid eyes on this man—she almost
groaned aloud. She had to stop thinking about what she had seen.

He was no different from most warriors.
Now there was a lie for sure.

“Something wrong?” Bryce called out, not turning to
look at the lad. “You're grunting and groaning back there.”

She bit at her bottom lip, silently chastising her
foolish rumination and upset that she had unknowingly been voicing her
annoyance.

“Nothing is wrong,” she snapped.

“Getting tired?”

“I'm fine,” she insisted, though her legs were
beginning to ache. She had covered a lot of land, at a far different pace, not
only since early morning but since her father's capture a week ago.

“Good, for we have much land to cover before we
stop.”

She groaned inwardly.

“I heard that.”

“You couldn't have, I kept it silent.”

His laughter warned she had been duped.

“I can match your pace,” she insisted.

“You'd better”—he laughed again—“for I don't want
to be forced to carry you.”

She hurried her steps, not doubting for a minute
that the large Highlander would easily fling her over his shoulder and be done
with it. What then? Would he discover her secret?

She wouldn't take the chance, and so, tired legs or
not, she kept in stride behind him.

B
ryce
gave a slow stretch to the sky. “A perfect spot.”

Charlotte dropped immediately to the ground,
wanting to moan aloud with relief. They hadn't stopped once to rest, and she
wondered where Bryce got his stamina. Not only did her body ache, but she was
exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Even though the sun would not
set for well over two hours, and her stomach protested in hunger.

“Let's have a dip before we eat.”

Charlotte's head shot up to see Bryce already
stripping off his clothes. “The stream is not deep enough for a dip or a
dunk.”

They had walked along the bank for some time,
Charlotte hoping with each step that Bryce would stop. She could tell at a
glance that the water might reach above her waist though not his.

“A splash then,” he said, his garments tossed to
lie beside his sword.

She couldn't help but stare at the spread of
muscles across his broad back and how it tapered down to form a nice round, taut
backside. And then there were his long legs, thick with solid muscles. Lord, he
was a fine specimen of a man.

He turned around so fast that it startled her, and
she jerked back. Not a good reaction. She was, after all, a lad and should be
accustomed to the sight of a naked man.

Lord have mercy, he was one
well-endowed warrior.

Eyes up. Eyes up
, she
warned silently. She obeyed her frantic command with haste.

“Disrobe and join me. You need a good washing.”

The words shot out of her mouth. “I'm too tired;
besides, the air has chilled.”

Charlotte felt her heart pound wildly as he
advanced on her, and she scrambled back.

“A little chill won't hurt you,” he said, stopping
much too close.

She fought to keep her eyes on his, a nearly
impossible task since her face was even with his—

Don't think about it. Don't
think about it,
she cautioned herself repeatedly.

“I'm not dunking,” she said, cringing and thinking
of an entirely different dunk.

Bryce bounced down on his haunches, and she was
grateful that their faces were now level.

“Charles, you may be a wee bit of a thing and need
to grow sturdier into manhood, but do not let that stop you from doing manly
things.”

Bryce bounced up so fast that the rest of him
bounced a mere inch from her face. Thank the Lord he turned around as
quickly.

“Now come and join me.”

Charlotte almost sighed aloud. For a moment, she
had feared he would reach out and strip her. She was relieved for the distance
he put between them. And she watched with even more relief when he entered the
water and saw that it was deeper than she had thought.

It swallowed him to his waist and brought another
sigh to her lips that she released aloud.

Bryce waved her in and for a fleeting moment she
once again worried that he would force her to join him. But she was quick to
realize he would not cause the lad embarrassment. If he had intended that, he
would have done so already. He had given her due respect, leaving the decision
to her though still encouraging.

The more she learned about this warrior, the more
she liked him. And that alarmed her. Never had she found herself drawn to any
man, and here, within only a few hours, she found that she liked this one. This
was neither the time nor place for such frivolous thoughts.

Her father needed rescuing, and the warrior had his
own mission to consider. There was work to be done for them both. She had to
remember that, and, more importantly, she had to remember that to Bryce, she was
the lad Charles, and, therefore, she needed to act accordingly.

Charlotte watched Bryce enjoy his dunk, and dunk he
did, several times. It was when he made his way to the bank that she scrambled
to her feet. She had no intentions of looking upon his naked, dripping wet body.
She had seen enough . . . not really . . . she tried to
convince herself she had.

“I'll get firewood,” she called out.

“Good,” he shouted. “You were right. There is a
chill to the air and to the water.”

Charlotte hurried around, collecting broken and
dried branches, all the while keeping her eyes averted from Bryce. A fire, food,
and sleep were upmost on her mind. She refused to allow any other thoughts to
interfere no matter how hard they tried.

They ate in relative silence in front of the
campfire, dusk settling quickly around them.

When they finished, Bryce said, “We must inquire
with caution about your da. No doubt the king has him well guarded if he
believes there is a chance of your father fattening his coffers.”

“I thought the same.”

“I've been thinking,” Bryce said. “Your da no doubt
believes you will attempt to rescue him.”

He was right about that; though her father had
warned against it, they had parted with him having no doubt that she would come
for him.

“Since he taught you well about weapons, I assume
he also taught you well his conjuring.”

“My father doesn't conjure,” Charlotte said. “He is
a man steeped in knowledge, dealing with those who lack knowledge. He cares
naught about wealth or power. Learning is his life; he believes humanity will
not prosper without it.”

“Does your father know you as well as you do
him?”

She smiled. “Even better.”

“Then I daresay your da would find a way to aid you
in his escape.”

His remark puzzled her for a moment, then she
nodded vigorously, though annoyed with herself for not having realized it.
“You're right. He would find a way of leaving a trail that no one but I would
recognize.”

“Is there anything that your da requires to do his
conjuring or so make the king believe and to make finding him easier?”

Charlotte scrunched her brow, trying to recall
something, anything that her da had mentioned of late that could prove helpful.
To her despair, she could bring nothing to mind.

“Do not worry,” Bryce said. “No doubt you'll
realize something soon enough.”

Her da had taught her that worry was a deterrent in
solving problems. He had advised her that clear thought produced good results.
She had to keep her thoughts clear. No matter how worried she was about her da's
fate, it did no good to linger on it. She must think the way her da would. Only
then would she recognize the signs when they appeared.

Charlotte was grateful to the Highlander warrior,
for once again he had helped her. “I am indebted to you for rescuing me from the
soldiers, but I am also indebted to you for helping me find my father. It is
appreciated more than you know.”

He glanced at her strangely, almost as if he wasn't
quite certain who she was, then she realized. She hadn't spoken brash like the
lad. She had sounded much too mannered.

She thought to correct her mistake but then thought
better of it. Her blunder would be forgotten once she resumed the role of the
lad.

“We struck a bargain, and so my word was given,”
Bryce said.

“Not all men keep their word.”

“I do.” He grinned. “My da taught me the importance
of honor, and my mother taught me to heed a woman's word.” His grin grew. “I
prefer a woman who heeds my word.”

“Then it's a mindless fool you want for a
wife?”

Bryce laughed. “You have much to learn about
women.”

“Teach me,” she challenged, curious to know his
thoughts on women.

“You would be an old man by the time I finished,”
Bryce said, laughter coloring his words as he stretched out on the hard ground,
crossing his arms beneath his head.

“One bit of wisdom?” Charlotte asked.

“Let no woman have your heart until you're ready to
give it,” Bryce said. “Now sleep. Tomorrow is a busy day.”

Charlotte stretched out on the opposite side of the
campfire from Bryce. She lay on her side, staring at him. He lay with his eyes
closed, his arms still pillowing his head. His response had startled her. She
had expected a humorous quip, not serious words.

Was that what he did? Did he hold firm to his heart
when it came to women? Would he give nothing of his heart, not a bit, until he
was ready? And if so, how would he ever know if he was ready to love?

One day, many years ago, she had asked her father
about love. He had told her in his usual pragmatic manner that love could never
be defined; it could only be felt.