Heaven and the Heather (14 page)

“I’ll not go in there,” Sabine protested, clutching her purse protectively to her breast.

“Fair enough,” Niall said. He released her hand and stepped over some large rocks, into the stony shelter.

“Are you just going to leave me here in the rain?”

“No,” he replied, turning, one brow cocked, “I’m just gonnae stand here and savor some fine French ‘whine’.”

He offered Sabine his hand.

She huffed and stared at the rocks separating them. “Those, I cannot climb.”

Niall grinned. “Very well then….” He turned away and paused.

“
Well?!
” she cried. “What am I to do…What are you going to do?”

Shaking his head, he turned and stepped back over the rocks. Without a word he hooked one arm around the small of her back. He scooped her into both of his arms.

“What are you doing?” she demanded indignantly. “This is—”

“This is me doing your bidding. Now shut yer gob for once.”

He carried her over the rocks.

“If you drop me, I’ll…I’ll…,” she began.

“Ye’ll break yer backside, that’s what,” he said, ducking into the cave. It was barely tall enough for a man to stand upright. In fact, barely wide enough for two men to sleep with a fire between them.

“You are a scoundrel and a
beast
,” she hissed, wriggling in his grasp.

Niall blinked. “Ye may be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, but yer mouth is pure vinegar.”

He suddenly pictured dropping her to her well-bred arse, but thought better of it. He would only hear more complaints.

He eased her gently to her feet.

Sabine smoothed her skirts and ran her fingers through the long length of her damp black hair. Niall propped himself against the stone wall, arms folded across his chest, observing her. She looked nervously out of the shelter at the rain, then she shifted her gaze to him.

“It’s not much drier in this place,” she said. “I’d be better off outside in the middle of the river.”

“Do as ye wish.”

He knelt to the charred branches, which had given him and Rory warmth last night. He held his hand over the sticks. Heat touched his palm. He hoped there was enough life left in this pile to make a proper fire. And he knew Sabine would stay right where she was, with him instead of out there in the rain.

Surprisingly, though, she knelt beside him instead of standing there with her arms crossed and a scowl on her lovely face.

“What type of wood is this?” she asked, shifting the wadded paper from her right hand to her left. A precious drawing, no doubt, one she wished to keep private. He wondered for a moment if it was of Campbell then quickly banished the thought as his gut roiled.

“The sticks?” she persisted.

Niall had to think for a moment. He and Rory had just gathered fallen bits and branches, not paying attention to what they were, just that they were dry. Did he have any more? “Birch or willow. Why?” He searched the ground for any twigs or bits of dry grass to ignite these coals into flames.

“I have my reasons,” she said.

Niall picked up a handful of dried grass and tossed it on the coals just as Sabine stuck her gnarled hand to the base of the charred sticks. The grass burst into flames that licked the back of her hand.

She yelped and snatched it back, dropping a charred twig.

“What’d ye bloody well do that for?” Niall asked. “Let me see yer hand.”

“There is no need. I am fine,” she replied, wincing.

“More stubborn than fine, I’d say. Give me yer hand.”

Sabine raised her hand under Niall’s nose. The twisted fingers twitched. She was trying to straighten them. He concentrated on the back of her hand, on the red burn there.

“See?” she said wincing. “I’m very well.”

“Oh, aye,” Niall said studying the red marring the delicate skin on back of her hand. “I’ve got the cure for your wound but not for that bigsie way about ye.” He reached into his sporran and wrapped his fingers about a small vial. He wondered for a moment why he was attracted to Sabine, when she had only shown her appreciation by being a bloody pain in the arse.

“
Bigsie?
” she asked.

“Conceited,” he replied cradling her hand in his. “Now, dinnae move.”

“What are you doing?” Sabine asked.

“Making amends for yer stupidity with a wee bit of Agnes’s cure,” he replied with a grin. The aghast look on her face was worth the teasing he gave her. ’Twas a shame he could not give her more of himself. There was a wall about her, one she had built at Campbell’s castle. He saw it in her frightened eyes. He had not seen it at Holyrood.

“Who’s Agnes?” she asked.

“A lass,” was all he would divulge. Was all he would ever tell her.

He pulled the cloth stopper out with his teeth and spit it to his lap. Carefully, he daubed a small amount of the mysterious, but effective, concoction of herbs and fats onto Sabine’s burn.

“So, tell me,” he said, releasing her hand. He reached down to the bottom of his kilt and tore off a thin strip. “Why would ye stick yer hand in the fire?”

“I am certain I’m not the first to do so.”

Niall grinned. “Good point, but that’s not what I meant. What would make ye wound yerself like that?” He would chisel away her wall stone by stone if he had to.

“’Twasn’t with intention,” she said. “But someone like you would not understand.” She continued to hold her hand out.

Niall covered her wound with the strip of his plaid. He wrapped it carefully around her hand, under one finger that seemed perpetually bent to her palm.

“Aye, I understand,” he said. “Ye need the stick for yer art.”

“You know about art?” she asked brows raised.

“Dinnae look so bloody surprised. I’m not without culture, although such learning was not my choice, I assure ye.”

“Why is that?”

Niall tied off the plaid wrapping. “Another time…maybe…I’ll tell ye….” He had his own wall too.

“I do not wish to know your Highland secrets,” she said tipping her chin up.

Niall returned to the fire. “Then we’ve something in common, because I dinnae wish to tell ye them.”

He piled the remains of twigs, grass, and larger sticks on the flames, pleased that Sabine did not rummage about for another twig. He bent down, on hands and knees and blew gently on the coal. After a few puffs, the weak flames grew into a healthy, crackling fire. Niall sat back on his heels, smiling at his accomplishment.

“Congratulations,” Sabine said. “Now, what do we do?”

“Hide,” he replied, looking at her shiver slightly.

He reached behind him and took his relatively dry cloak from the ground.

She stiffened.

“Dinnae be frightened,” he said. “I see that ye’re cold.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” she asked, eyes flashing.

“
Cold
is the last thing I’d call ye.” Niall dropped the cloak to her shoulders and scooted back a little.

“I don’t bite,” she said, eyeing him over the low flames. She clutched the cloak tight about her.

“Ye look as if ye think I will.”

She sniffed. “Are you now ready to tell me why you came here?”

“The queen is within yon castle, and her repute for a good hunt has made it far into these bens and glens,” he said. “’Tis sure that she will hunt for deer during her stay.”

His reply to Sabine was more his own scheming than it was an answer for her. Why was it when he was with her his thoughts could be so muddied and so bloody clear?

“How would you know that? Were you spying?” she asked.

“Not spying, just remembering. Every Highlander knows, especially my own kith and kin, when the royalty come here to hunt, there’s profit to be made. Takes the monotony out of earning coin from sheep and cattle.” Saying this made his belly turn. Highland farmers rarely warriors like himself, often joined in what Niall thought was a task far beneath them. Royals would pay them to drive deer and roebuck from the forested bens. It was a dreadful, demeaning affair, but money was a loud hue and cry.

Sabine stared at him. How could one like her understand the problems that had plagued these hills longer than the auld ones could recount?

“Her Majesty will hunt on the ’morrow at first light. All in her court will join in the
grand amusement
.” Sabine furrowed her delicate brow. Niall stared at her until she caught him. He blinked and looked into the fire.

“I take it that ye arenae too fond of the hunt,” he said.

“I certainly am not fond of it! I have no hand for the arrow. Her Majesty will only see me as a foolish cripple, but then why should she be any different?” She looked to the flames while winding and unwinding a lock of hair about a twisted finger.

“Different from whom?” Niall asked.

Sabine looked to the fire. Wisps of her hair, dried by the sparse heat, drifted across her face. She pushed them out of the way. “Lord Campbell,” she said deliberately dropping her gaze. “He is one who thinks I am foolish and a cripple to be pitied.”

Then she looked back at him. Her eyes reflected the fire, and reflected something else. Fear.

“Campbell knows ye not,” he said.

What in bloody hell had Campbell said or done to her? Niall swallowed, deciding not to ask her right now, decided to get to know her a wee bit more.

“Are you king of your clan?” she asked, suddenly, hopefully.

Niall straightened. Did the mere thought that he could have that kind of power excite her? He smiled inwardly, relaxed. She was intrigued by him. But he could only offer her truth. In that he hoped she would see honor.

He looked at her. Eyes wide, taking furtive glances outside, jaw set, and her body as rigid as a pike.

“I’m not their king,” he said. “I’m an equal with them. I offer my clan protection and my vow to take the name of MacGregor to glory and respect, which my clan is sorely lacking.”

“That is why you wished to see the queen?”

“Aye, but that was fraught with trouble from the moment I entered her court, from the moment I saw Campbell at her side…” He looked at Sabine, over the flames, the heat building on his face not from the fire but from deep within him. “…And from the moment I saw Campbell with ye.” Niall wanted to bite back that last confession. It would cause him more trouble than it could possibly be worth. Yet, he could not help notice she had not asked in a long while about her purse.

S
abine stared across the fire at Niall. The heat warmed her face. Niall’s wool cloak warmed her body, the musky scent wrapped around her, the scent of male. Enough to keep her warm. Or was it his penetrating stare under fiercely arched brows? Her words certainly were not warmth to her. They were nothing more than icy truth. “Campbell’s a man with power, land, and eventually me. He has everything.” Except the paper tucked in her left hand. She moved in to the top of her gown, drier now, and slipped it inside between her breasts.

“Aye, but that’s where ye’re wrong,” Niall said. “Campbell is typical of all the chiefs with power beyond measure. All he wants is more land, more wealth, more power.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I daresay he has entertained the notion of usurping the throne. The queen is a fresh monarch. I’ve no doubt that Campbell sees her as an easy mark. He’s just biding his time, like a wolf, waiting to strike when his quarry is unaware.”

Sabine stared at him. Niall was speaking about herself. She was Campbell’s “quarry”.

“Sabine?” he asked.

Under Niall’s thick cloak, she trembled.

“Nothing,” she stammered, rushing to her feet. The cloak slipped from her shoulders and puddled about her feet.

A sudden wind whistled into their hiding place and swirled the flames almost to extinction. Niall leapt up and grabbed Sabine by the arm, whirling her about to face him. She was comforted, almost, in the thought that perhaps Niall was the one person who could save her from Campbell.

“What vexes ye so? Tell me.”

“A demand from you? I have faced a lifetime of demands, and you give me one more when all I want for you is—” She bit off her words. She could not speak of those terrible things Campbell and the shadowy Highlander had said about her.

“Is what?” he asked, his gaze searching her face. He did not demand. She could see it on his face that he wanted to know.

He paused and heaved in a great breath. His gaze sharp as a knife’s edge.

“Tell me what has Campbell done?”

The world splintered before her eyes. She sagged against him with no choice but to tell him, to save herself.

Niall held her tight. He said he was a protector, not a king. Would he protect her? Sabine took a deep breath toward the first step into finding the answer.

“Campbell has threatened me,” she said, trying to calm her voice. “After we marry, after he’s had his way with me, he will kill me.” Sabine broke down into tears. Just speaking of what she had overheard made it so much more real.

“How d’ye know this, Sabine?” Niall asked, his lips brushing her ear. “What proof have ye?”