Chapter Four

 

 

 

Mairin stumbled through the snow on her way to the dovecote. She knew the path well—the conical stone structure had been erected not far from her hut—but the shadows seemed to loom around her, reaching out for her.

She held the candle higher in her shaking hand. Nay. She couldn’t succumb to fear now. Not when her mind already swirled with a maelstrom of tangled emotion. She needed to think, to breath. And to do both, she needed the safety of the dovecote.

As she passed her hut, the dovecote’s stone siding came into view. She hurried the last few steps, yanking open the wooden door and ducking inside.

Though the air was sharp with cold outside, it was surprisingly warm within the dovecote. The familiar, soothing sounds of coos and ruffling feathers hit her, and instantly the knot in her chest loosened a fraction. It smelled of straw and animals, and faintly of bird droppings.

She lifted the candle, counting the pigeons in each little cubby hole nestled in the mortar between the stones. All twelve pairs were tucked away for the night, though they could always leave if they wished through the opening at the top of the domed stone ceiling.

The dovecote had been Lillian’s idea. She’d seen the strides Mairin had made over the years in the camp. Training with the others, building strength, and learning the power of her own body had given Mairin more confidence than she’d ever experienced since those terrible years of captivity. Yet Lillian had also observed the dark shadows under Mairin’s eyes from the nightmares that still haunted her and the way Mairin still struggled with feeling cornered or trapped.

It had taken a while for Mairin to open up to the Englishwoman, but they enjoyed a game of chess many evenings after training. Kirk would make himself busy chopping wood, giving the two an opportunity to talk.

Mairin wasn’t one to speak of her past and the invisible scars that marked her mind, but Lillian was both gentle and clever, a good listener but also inventive when it came to solutions. She’d read about the practice of keeping pigeons somewhere, and had suggested it as a method to help calm Mairin and chase away some of her demons.

Of course outwardly, having a dovecote at the training camp appeared to be purely practical. When the few chickens the camp boasted didn’t produce eggs, the pigeons’ eggs and squabs could be collected for food. Their feathers filled pillows and mattresses, and their droppings could be taken to the village at Roslin and traded to the farmers as fertilizer for their crops.

But the true purpose of the dovecote was for Mairin’s wellbeing. Lillian had directed the men as they’d placed the stones for the dovecote to leave an opening at the top of the structure. They’d left a hole, then positioned a large rock over it, propping it up on sticks like a little hat. It kept most of the weather out, but allowed the birds to enter and exit at their will. They weren’t imprisoned. They could come and go as they pleased.

It was a reminder to Mairin that she was no longer trapped in that damp, dark root cellar in the middle of England. She could move freely now, settling where she chose and leaving when she wished—just like the birds.

Mairin had taken to coming to the dovecote in the middle of the night when the memories came back—always with a candle to chase away the darkness. She needed the light to beat back the deeper shadows, which had come to represent everything she feared. Captivity. Torture.

England.

And now she was to return to the place of her greatest suffering, the heart of her lingering terror.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, but a sob still escaped. She squeezed her eyes shut against the burn of tears. Oh God. How would she survive?

A soft tap sounded against the wooden door behind her. Mairin sucked in a hard breath and swiped her sleeve over her eyes.

“What?” she demanded, making her voice hard to mask the thickness in her throat.

“It’s Niall. May I come in?”

Mairin barely managed to bite off a curse. The last thing she wanted was Niall to see her, blubbering and frightened as a bairn. He already thought her no more than a weak lass, judging from the way he was always going easy on her in training and insisting that she never do aught dangerous.

She racked her brain for some excuse to send him away, a sharp word or two to make him leave, but her thoughts were already such a tangled mess that naught came.

She let a shaky exhale go. “A-aye. Come in.”

The door swung open and there he was. He had to duck low to clear the doorframe. Though he’d already been tall when she’d first arrived at the camp, in the four years since, he’d grown nearly as big as the other strapping Highland men. His muscular shoulders wouldn’t fit through the frame, either, so he had to angle in sideways.

His russet hair glowed like polished copper in the candlelight as he straightened, closing the door behind him. Inside, the dovecote was plenty tall enough for him to stand upright, but it was only four or so feet in diameter, forcing them to inch together.

This was exactly what Mairin didn’t need. She felt an unnatural warmth spread up her neck and into her face. She normally did everything she could to avoid being in close quarters with Niall. He was English, a reminder of everything she hated. Worse, his nearness caused an uncomfortable pinch in her stomach—and an unwelcome spike of heat that she didn’t fully understand.

“What are ye doing here?” she said harshly.

Her tone apparently didn’t daunt him. “You seemed upset when you left the keep. I wanted to check on you.”

“I am just angry, is all,” she lied, toeing a bit of the straw on the ground with the tip of her boot.

“Why?” he asked gently.

“This could have been my first mission on my own, but I am apparently in need of a chaperone. The Bruce and my brother both think I require a nursemaid to look after me.” The flood of words caught her off guard—she wasn’t normally one to open up, especially not to an Englishman—but his gaze was so earnest and searching.

He huffed a breath, lifting one corner of his mouth. “At least you get to go.”

“Aye, but it seems I am only good for tending the pigeons. Little Bird, looking after the birds.”

Niall crossed his arms and leaned against the stones where no birds roosted. “Why does Logan call you that? Have you always liked birds?” He made a little circle with his chin, as if to take in the dovecote.

She sighed, but surprised herself by answering. “Nay, I feel no particular affinity with birds. My brothers gave me the nickname when I was a wee lass. They said I had the big, round eyes of an owl, the bones of a sparrow, and the appetite—and table manners—of a hawk.”

His brows winged at that. “Then your love of the dovecote is just a coincidence.”

He’d noticed how often she came here? Befuddled, she blurted, “Aye, it’s only because it makes me feel safe, and—”

Mairin managed to cut herself off before she revealed the embarrassing truth.

She wasn’t sure how much the others in the camp knew of her past. Kirk likely knew all, for Logan had probably confessed his reasons for working in the Order of the Shadow, and explained why Mairin had acted so strange her first few months in the camp. And Lillian knew, both from what Mairin had shared with her and what Kirk likely confided within the privacy of their marriage.

The others probably had varying degrees of knowledge, which Mairin wasn’t eager to fill in. She was already the youngest member of the Corps, and the only woman. She didn’t need to give them another reason to feel sorry for her, or to coddle her.

Niall was watching her with those keen blue eyes that seemed to cut past all her defenses. She swallowed.

“It doesnae matter,” she muttered. “It seems all is decided already. I am to see to the pigeons while Will gets to do the fighting.”

“But they trust you,” Niall said, his voice low yet hard-edged. “That is more than I can say.”

“Do they, though? I work just as hard as any of ye. I’m better with daggers or a bow than Will is. Havenae I proven myself yet?”

To her surprise, Niall didn’t hesitate. “Aye.”

She eyed him suspiciously, expecting him to continue with a …but.

Instead, he met her gaze, his features unguarded. “You are more than capable, Mairin.”

She was so stunned that she stood there in silence while he continued to hold her stare.

“You’re a damn fine warrior,” he said. After a pause, he went on, more carefully now. “And being scared wouldn’t make you any less so.”

He knew. Her throat pinched. Despite her angry façade, he knew what lurked under the surface. Terror.

She opened her mouth to declare that she wasn’t scared, but the lie wouldn’t come out. Instead, the memories stormed her, choking her voice and blurring her vision.

The darkness. The smell. The blinding light when one of her captors would open the door and toss her a scrap of food or hurl vulgar taunts at her.

“I…” She managed to swallow a sob, shaking her head to clear it. “I’m no’…” She squeezed her eyes shut once more as she fought for control.

“I’m scared, too.” Niall’s voice was low and close. He hadn’t touched her, and yet she felt his presence before her, around her, as if she were mere inches from being folded into his embrace.

Confusingly, the idea of his arms closing around her didn’t make her feel panicked or trapped, nor did his English-accented voice send a pang of fear through her. Of its own volition, her body rocked ever so slightly forward, toward the warm solidity of his form.

“Why would ye be scared,” she mumbled. “Ye arenae the one being sent on a mission.”

“I’m scared for you.”

At that, her eyes snapped open. Sure enough, they only stood a hair’s breadth apart now. He loomed over her, his russet head bent close and his eyes dark with intensity.

“Why?” she asked, heat rising in her veins once more. It was from anger only, she told herself, not Niall’s nearness. “Because I am only a wee lass?”

“Nay,” he replied, his mouth turning down. His lips were surprisingly full, yet they were so often set in a serious line, as they were now. “Because I…” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Because I wouldn’t want you to be hurt,” he said softly. “And because I know you hate all things English. Being in England, surrounded by Englishmen, will not be easy.”

Mairin grasped for her anger once more, but it wouldn’t come. It would be so much easier to be furious with Niall, with this damned mission, with everything. But instead her thoughts swirled in a confused jumble.

Niall had said he believed in her. But also that he was worried for her. And he knew she was afraid, though she prayed he didn’t know the whole of why.

“I only wish…” he murmured, his gaze softening as it drifted over her face. “I only wish I could be the one to go with you.”

Abruptly, he cleared his throat, straightening. “As it is, I suppose this is goodbye for a time. You’ll be away from the camp for several sennights—mayhap months, if you succeed in drawing out this rebellion as the Bruce wishes.”

Mairin bit the inside of her cheek. Months spent in England?

She must have blanched, for Niall fixed her with his gaze.

“Just remember, Mairin. You are braver than you may think, and stronger.”

“How do ye know?” she murmured, silently chiding herself for the way warmth spread through her at his words.

“Because I’ve witnessed it with my own two eyes,” he replied, one corner of his mouth curving. “I’ve watched you train, seen the way you never give up. You are a fighter—and I don’t just mean your ability to kick my arse.”

She made a sound that was half-snort, half-chuckle. “And dinnae ye forget it.”

But instead of grinning back, Niall’s features grew serious, his gaze intent on her. “This is farewell, then.”

Yet Niall remained rooted in place, his eyes dropping to her mouth. Her lips began to tingle. Would he…would he kiss her? The thought should have been abhorrent, but for some reason Mairin remained frozen as well, staring up at him like a startled doe.

Niall was handsome, there was no denying it. He was tall and broad of shoulder, his large frame filled out with lean strength. His eyes, bright as a summer sky, shone with keen intelligence. His hair was cut short in the back and on the sides in the style of the English, yet the locks on top were long enough to curl in tousled copper waves above his honed features.

Yet Mairin had never allowed herself to contemplate him in such a light.

At first, it had been a struggle to be in the camp with him. He was a constant reminder of all she’d fought to put behind her.

With time, she’d come to trust that he was nothing like the Englishmen who’d held her captive. Niall was quiet, earnest, and hardworking, not cruel.

But he’d always treated her strangely. His gaze followed her everywhere she went. He was constantly close by to lend her a hand down from a horse, or help her carry buckets of water from the stream behind the camp.

And he was protective of her. Today wasn’t the first time he’d instinctively stepped in front of her when a stranger approached or a noise came from the woods while they were training.

Mairin had taken his watchfulness and attentions as a sign of one of two things—either he saw her as a younger sister requiring coddling, the same as the others in the camp, or he thought her incapable of taking care of herself.

Neither option pleased her. She told herself it was because it chafed her pride to be thought of as a wee lass in need of help, but the truth lurked somewhere in the dark heat that bloomed in her gut whenever Niall was near.

But now here in the close intimacy of the dovecote, with the candle she still held casting them both in a soft golden glow, uncertainty trickled through her. The way he was staring at her, with a mixture of hunger and sadness, left her thoughts muddled.

Tension hung thick as smoke in the air around them for a long moment. Abruptly, the strange spell was shattered by the distant whinny of a horse.

Niall frowned. “Would Logan return to Craigmoor in the dark?”

“Nay, he would wait for morning’s first light. And he wouldnae leave without saying goodbye to me.”

The rumble of hooves grew louder outside the dovecote.

“Stay behind me,” Niall ordered, yanking a dagger from his boot. Before Mairin could protest, he’d opened the dovecote door, but his large body blocked the entire frame, forcing her to do as he said.

Blasted man. All her earlier uncertainty fled now that he’d demonstrated yet again that he thought she needed protecting.

Mairin was about to demand that Niall move aside when a horse and rider suddenly emerged from the shadows outside the dovecote, riding hard into camp.

“Halt,” Niall barked. His back tensed as the rider reined in at the sound of his voice.

“English?”

Mairin recognized the voice. She shoved against Niall’s back, managing to squeeze around him and through the door. She held her candle aloft, casting light over the rider.

“Angus? What are ye doing here?”

The old warrior’s face was a mask of worry behind his bushy, graying beard.

“I have urgent news, wee Mackenzie,” he huffed, his breath a white fog before him. “Where is Will?”