When Fate Dictates (3 page)

He nodded. “Aye, lass, that you must do.”

I stumbled down the track, coming ever closer
to the place of my birth. The bile rose inside me, burning my
throat, just as the smoke had done that morning. I could see the
blackened remains of my home and felt myself running frantically
toward it, crying out for my grandmother as I did. The roof had
collapsed, making it almost impossible to identify individual
objects amongst the charred remnants. Sobbing hysterically, my
knees buckled and I fell to the ground.

“Christ!” he muttered in exclamation. “May
the Lord have mercy on us all.” A shiver passed through him as he
glanced once more over the derelict ruins of the cottage, his eyes
surveying the filthy mess of slaughter. He filled his lungs with a
quick, deep breath and rubbed his hands roughly through his hair,
he watched as the grief tore deeper through my consciousness.

I felt his arms around me, dragging me away.
I fought wildly with him, flaying my arms frantically; my body
shook violently as he lowered me onto the cool ground outside the
cottage. He bent down in front of me, his large frame blocking my
view of the ruins. His powerful arms were around me, his strong
hands on my back. Holding me tightly to his chest he soothingly
rocked me like a frightened child.

“It’s alright, lass. I will see her bones
buried this day,” he whispered softly, “but now it’s time to go.”
He took hold of my trembling hands and helped me to my feet.
Blindly, I let him guide me away and back into the woods. He took
me to the cave, handed me his flask and suggested that I consume a
large quantity of its content. Tossing me his jacket, he turned and
left. I took his advice and it was not long before the flask almost
was empty. Very soon, consumed by grief, exhaustion took hold.

When I awoke, it was to find him watching me.
He rubbed his forehead as if to shift a headache.

“It is done. Your grandmother is buried,” he
said, rubbing his dirt-stained hands roughly together.

“Thank you Mr. Campbell, I am most grateful
for your kindness,” I said, massaging my throbbing temple. “How
long have I been asleep?”

“A while,” he said kindly.

I noticed he had changed his clothes and was
now wearing a belted plaid, a long white cotton shirt and trousers.
I also noticed on the floor, by some bags, a flintlock pistol that
I had not seen before.

“You have changed Mr. Campbell?” I remarked,
hoping my voice didn’t sound accusing.

“Aye, that I have,” he shrugged; aware that I
had guessed where the clothes and pistol had come from.

“I don’t blame you Mr. Campbell,” I
whispered.

“I know you don’t, but even if you did, it
wouldn’t change things,” he paused, inhaling slowly a steady long
breath. “You know we cannot stay here in the glen?”

I looked up at him, a frown deepening on my
forehead as I did. “I know that well enough Mr. Campbell but I have
no idea where I should go or what I should do. Have you a plan for
yourself?” I asked flatly.

“That I do,” he replied simply.

A dark shadow had crossed his face and the
danger in his future was clearly marked in his features. Sighing
deeply he continued, “I have nothing to offer you, but if you wish
to come with me I would welcome your company.”

“You would have me with you?”

“Aye, lass, but there are dangers in
following me, not least of which is the fact that I am a wanted
man, on the run from the King of England’s army.” His lips thinned
and the muscles of his wide jaw twitched as his body tensed. “The
Red Coats won’t give up their hunt for me, and if they find me they
will show neither of us any mercy.” His eyes met mine showing a
strength far greater than my own, and I had no doubt that I would
follow this man.

“They are risks I will have to take,” I
replied simply, straightening my shoulders. He rubbed his forehead
thoughtfully.

“If that is what you wish, then you can come
with me.” He was still looking down at me, one corner of his mouth
curling slightly upwards. “Just one thing lass?” he asked.

“Aye, Mr. Campbell, what would that be?” I
replied seriously.

He cleared his throat gruffly before
responding. “Could you please stop calling me ‘Mr. Campbell’?”

The tension lifted as he beamed down at me, a
twinkle of playful humor darting across his eyes. I returned his
smile, feeling a hint of life return to my body as I enjoyed the
simple pleasure of a shared smile. He raised the flask of whisky to
his mouth and drank hard. “Have we a deal then?” he teased.

“I should think we have... Simon,” I replied,
using his name for the first time.

“I have something for you,” he said, turning
to pick up a bundle of cloth. I took it from him, noticing as I did
that it consisted of a plaid, an ankle length dress, stockings and
a pair of boots. “Tonight, I mean to light us a warming fire and
cook us this wee scoundrel,” he boasted proudly, displaying the
carcass of a small hare. “You put those clean clothes on and I will
fetch us some twigs for a fire.”

******

The fire had burned down to embers, emitting
little more than a gentle glow. It had done its work in the night
and the crevice was warm when I woke. I moved to straighten my
legs, debating whether to get up and risk waking Simon. I looked
across at him; at his long black hair draped across his cheek, the
slow rhythmic rise and fall of his broad chest, the wide bulk and
length of his thigh muscles, strong and taut even in sleep. A blush
rose in my cheeks and I lowered my eyes to the ground, biting my
bottom lip in reproach.

“Sleep well lass?” his deep, husky voice
inquired. My eyes swung up to him. He had raised himself up on one
elbow and was resting his head in his hand, his eyebrows cocked
quizzically.

“Oh! I thought you were asleep,” I said
guiltily.

“I know,” he replied.

“How long have you been awake?” I
questioned.

“Long enough,” he said simply.

“Oh,” I whispered my voice thick with
embarrassment.

Pulling himself up from the floor, he
adjusted his expression to one of solemn purpose. “We have far to
go today Corran and it won’t be an easy journey.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“We will head east.”

“Why east?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he replied,
impatiently pushing his hands into his pockets.

“They are fair questions,” I snapped
defensively.

“Aye, that they are,” he said, nodding
agreeably. “However, just because they may be fair doesn’t mean I
have to answer them,” he replied sharply.

“If I am to travel with you, Simon, then you
owe me an insight into your plans.”

His jaw tightened in fury. “I will tell you
this once, and only once,” he growled, his voice dangerously low.
“I don’t owe you or anyone else anything. I am going east and, yes,
I have a plan for when I get there but I am not of a mind to share
that plan with you just now. When the time comes, and I want you to
know what I am planning, I promise you will be the first one to
know.” He paused, rubbing his hands through his mop of long curls
in frustration.

“Well who else were you thinking of telling?
I can’t see anyone else around,” I interrupted, seeking his eyes
and holding their look. They burned fiercely down into mine.

“You can either choose to trust me or not.
That choice lies entirely with you and in it I will not attempt to
sway you,” he finished, turning his back on me and plucking his
coat from the floor.

“Now are you coming or not?” he barked.

I roughly dusted off my plaid and wrapped it
around my shoulders, fastening it just above my breasts with the
brooch I had found in the bundle of clothes. He was clearly a man
who liked to do things his way, and I wondered briefly how he had
ever managed in the army. Unfortunately, I was not used to being
told what to do either.

“You know that this has nothing to do with
whether I trust you or not,” I snapped, “I simply want to know what
plans you have.” Meeting his eyes to assess his reaction, I
realized that I had pushed the point too far.

“You will know when I am ready for you to
know what my plans are,” he broke off, taking a deep breath of
frustration. “And unless you wish for me to tan your pretty little
backside right here and now, I would strongly suggest that you drop
the matter,” he boomed, grabbing the leather bag and swinging it
forcibly over his shoulder. “Now get your things Corran, we are
going.”

The day was bright and warm, the sun melting
the ice and snow around us as we left the crevice and headed away
from the glen toward the boggy moorland of Rannoch Moor. I felt
strangely daunted by the thought of treading new ground. Simon,
however, did not seem to share my feelings and guided us as
confidently as if he were treading his home track. He took us
further and further into the wild rocky moorland. We followed the
shores of shining lochs, their edges partially frozen.

We stopped around mid-afternoon by a
magnificent waterfall. Breathless, we stood and watched the water
as it hurtled over the rocks, an endless cascade pounding its way
down the stone. We stood watching in respectful silence for some
time, drawing joy from the sheer beauty of it. A single
high-pitched wail drew my eyes toward the center of a loch where a
Black-throated diver plunged head first into the water. It
disappeared from sight leaving only the circles of rippled water to
betray its presence.

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.