Chapter Twenty-Four
Will my dreams come true, she asked.
Only if the maid believes, spake the crone.
— Maeve Montgomerie
Damian had ridden ahead, scouting to see if he could spot anything untoward. Nothing. As far as the eye could see. Of course, that was not saying much since the fog refused to burn off. Instead, it hung heavy to the ground, so thick it was misting part of the time. Finally giving up, he rode back to the column and straight to Julian.
Reining Galleon to ride alongside his cousin, he spared a glance over his shoulder at Aithinne and Tamlyn. He was worried about the women, especially Aithinne. She had pulled the hood up on her light-weight mantle to block the mist. Her face was so beautiful, but she seemed wan. Frowning, he wished he could take her before him, ease the burden of the ride for her. Noticing he was staring at her, she gave him a sad smile.
“Our ladies are not used to the saddle as we are, Julian. Aithinne shows strain,” Damian pointed out, knowing there was little he could do to alleviate her suffering until they reached the safety of Glen Shane.
Julian turned back, his eyes falling on Tamlyn. “The journey has been rough for them—in more ways than one. To the bottom of my soul I wish I could have spared them the horrors of Berwick.”
“Wish we all could have been spared the horrors of Berwick,” Damian concurred.
“No one shouldst suffer through that hell. Yet, Tamlyn did, long before we went there. At times, she seems to walk in my memories…see things I wouldst sooner forget. ’Tis not easy being married to a witch. Mayhap I accept these things because of you and your abilities, but ’tis still bloody hard to recognize that your thoughts are not your own. Tamlyn says Aithinne’s abilities are even stronger. Methinks lying to a woman of Clan Ogilvie must be damnably challenging.” Julian’s dark green eyes skimmed over Damian. “Or you for that matter. Not that I have ever tried. Has anything else come to you?”
Shortness of temper rising, he snapped, “Bloody bleeding hell, Julian, The Kenning is not blowing your nose.” He gritted his teeth. “Beg pardon. My spirit is ragged.”
“It takes time, dear friend.” Julian gave him a big grin and then reached over to pat his arm.
“I know you are trying to lighten my burden, but at this moment I want to bury my fist into your mouth. What takes time?” Damian gave a tense laugh.
Julian glanced back to the women riding in the column. “Loving someone.”
“Please save the riddles.” Damian reached up and tugged his hood up as the mist grew thicker.
His cousin did the same hoping to keep dry. “Though my stomach turns speaking of him, Pendegast said a woman’s love rotted the brain and made a man weak.”
“He was sick. Now he is food for worms.” Damian shrugged.
Julian nodded. “He was wrong though. Love does not make a man weaker. You will fight for that special bond, protect her...die for her if need. That love strengthens you with every breath you take, gives a purpose to each day. What it does do is make you extremely aware of fate and its fragile vagaries. That in a heartbeat you could lose her and all meaning to life. Such an emotion makes you feel vulnerable in a way that neither you nor I ever experienced. It scares the bloody hell out of you. That is what is plaguing you, giving you this distemper. “You are a warrior. For now, your mind needs must put it aside, Damian. Focus and our wits and skills. Worry clouds perception, slows down reactions.”
“Tell me you are not worried about Tamlyn.” He laughed in challenge.
Julian’s right hand caressed the pommel of his sword. “’Tis verity I am. But I will only be able to protect her if I am at my best. I am a warrior, too. At this moment, that is my value to her.”
“Your value to her is she loves you. Methinks she little cares that you are a knight above all others.” Damian frowned as they rode up another rise, and then started down into the thickly shrouded glen. “Damn, I hoped the fog would lift by now. Mayhap we shouldst consider going to Lyonglen instead of Glenrogha.”
“That would keep us on the road for nearly another day. If someone plans to waylay us, then we wouldst be vulnerable to attack that much longer. I shall send riders on ahead to Lochshane and Glenrogha both, marshal forces to ride out and meet us.”
Julian turned in the deep seat of the war saddle and called, “Aylmer, Moffet―”
Damian’s hand shot out catching his cousin’s arm. “Not Moffet. I wouldst keep him close to reassure me. If you send him ahead, my mind will be worrying about Aithinne and him both. This way, they are in one spot. My focus will not be as divided.”
“Bray.” At Julian’s summons, the squires spurred their mounts to catch up.
“Moffet. Stay with the ladies. I charge you to especial keep close and watch oven them. Aylmer and Bray, take a banneret with you. Aylmer, go to Lochshane and charge my brother to ride out and meet us with a column. Bray, ride to Glenrogha and pass my orders for riders to come, immédiatement. Be alert.”
They watched the riders go off, and in a short space disappear in the thick fogbank.
Damian feared they might have sent the men off to their doom, yet knew there was no other choice. “God speed.”
The muscles around Challon’s mouth tightened. “Now, we wait.”
♦◊♦
“Challon, we needs must stop.” Tamlyn clucked her tongue, a signal to Goblin to pick up the gait so she could ride beside her husband.
Challon glanced to Damian, seeking his silent guidance. Both were aware Aithinne and Tamlyn needed to rest. The horses needed to stop, but that sense of urgency was heavy on his mind.
Julian looked grim. “I regret the pace is taxing, my lady, but we hope to reach Glenrogha around nooning. We can rest then―safely.”
She glanced at Damian as if it were his fault. “Men! I sorrow that women carrying bairns are bloody inconvenient for you, but Aithinne needs to rest. She does not fare well. Her back pains her, sharp pains. I fear if you maintain this punishing pace, it shall put the babe at risk. So stick that where you sit on your horse, my lord husband.”
Damian turned in the saddle and noticed Aithinne’s countenance had grown ashen. “Damn.”
He spun Galleon on his back hooves, and set the horse to lope back to the middle of the column until he reached her. Pulling alongside her, he noticed she was struggling to sit upright in the saddle. Her hand on the high cantle was trembling, and the reins were loss in the other one.
“Tamlyn said your back distresses you?”
She nodded, her lower lip quivering. “Beg pardon, my lord, I canno’ ride much farther…it hurts. I ken Glen Shane be near, but fear I might faint. I need to rest, and drink some water.”
Challon was watching, so Damian gave him a slight shake of his head to the negative, to let him know they could not ride on. “You should have said something, Aithinne.”
“I ken you want to reach Glenrogha.” She tried to give him a fleeting smile, but it seemed beyond her.
Julian signaled for the column to turn off onto a small plateau. High enough up, it had a decent view of the surrounding area, yet was secluded by a small stand of trees, thus not leaving them in the open. Damian lifted Aithinne from the saddle and led her about half way up.
His eyes searched her face, fearful they had pushed her too hard in this heat. He reached up, caught the stray lock of her auburn hair, and slid his finger down its length to push it back under the hood. Her lip quivered, but she tried to smile.
“Come.” He took his spare mantle from his pack and placed it on the ground for her. Sitting down slightly behind her, his fingers kneaded the small of her back. “That help?”
Accepting water Moffet fetched for her, she gave him a smile. “I do not mean to be a burden, Damian.”
“Hush, Aithinne. Just feel better. You worry me.”
“The rubbing helps. I give you thanks.”
“Neither Julian nor I are indifferent to the strain the travel is placing on you. It’s just the fear we are being followed and seek the walls of Glenrogha.” He offered explanation, lest she believe they were uncaring.
She gave a small nod, and then drank the water.
Damian’s eyes inspected the terrain, searching for anything out of the ordinary. A shadow that moved in the mist. Something. Anything. A breeze swirled around them, and a longed for one, as it was cool and held the promise of rain with it. The first rain in fortnights.
Casting his mind inwardly, he tried to focus on the bits of the dream that stayed with him. He recalled fog, not rain. If it rained, then the path to Glenrogha should be safe.
“You fear someone follows us?” she asked, turning so she could look at him.
He exhaled and nodded. “I cannot shake the sense. I had a dream last night.”
“Troubling from your expression.” She reached up and ran her thumb over one brow.
“You worry.”
“Pieces of it faded, as dreams are apt to do. Other fragments linger sharp in my mind, so detailed ’tis hard to separate my mind from it fully.” He caught an apple that Challon tossed to him. Taking his knife from his belt, he cored it and sliced it for Aithinne. “Tell me about Phelan Comyn and Dinsmore Campbell. Especial Comyn.”
Aithinne made a sour face and chewed the apple chunk before answering him. “Neither be my favorite thing to talk about. What do you want to ken about them? You think one of them follows us? Why? What have they to gain? Edward made you baron of Lyonglen and Coinnleir Wood. There be naught they can do to alter that now.”
“Men with pale aims oft discard common sense. Greed twists their minds. I barely know either of them, hence my asking. I am just considering possibilities.”
She sighed. “Dinsmore be a pain, but unlikely to cause trouble for anyone outside of himself, my assessment. Not too bright. However, oft those most lacking in wherewithal can be quite cunning. They catch you off guard because you underestimate them. Phelan…I am not sure anymore. When I saw him at Berwick, I had the sense of never truly knowing him. He paid me court for several seasons. I thought—feared—mayhap Gilchrest wouldst arrange a marriage. The Comyns be the most powerful clan in the Highlands, with their bloodlines rivaling that of the Bruces’ claim. Most of the clan was appeased when Longshanks put their kinsman, Balliol on the thrown. Not Lord Badenock. Red Comyn thought his claim should have seen the crown placed upon his brow. I do no’ think Phelan was pleased with being in the shadow of his more powerful cousin.”
“Then, why did my grandfather not accept his offer of marriage?”
“Gilchrest sought a strong alliance to see me protected. But he truly cared for me and wanted me happy. I think he saw I held misgivings about the man. The Ogilvies and the Comyns have never rubbed along well. Then, one time when he came to press matters, I caught Phelan coming out of the stables―and he had no’ been seeing to his horse. I deemed it the height of foolishness, and lacking in respect for me, for him to swive a serving wench whist trying to win my hand in the same breath.”
“On the morning after you and I had our audience with Edward, Challon and I went to visit the king alone. I was surprised that Phelan was there. Edward’s bit of mischief, more of his game playing.”
“Mischief? I do no’ understand.” Her brow creased in worry.
Damian did not like to upset her, but felt she deserved to understand his misgivings about the Scotsman. “The king said Phelan came to him with a claim that you were betrothed to him―”
“Why that swine!” Her revulsion was clear. So was her fury. “I will cut his heart out.”
He picked up her hand. “Aithinne, hear me out, please, before you lose your temper.”
“Very well, though from the sound of that I shan’t like what you will say.” Her amber eyes with the green streaks narrowed on him. “So speak.”
Damian knew this would not go well, but there was little way around it. “He said the child you carry is his.”
For a moment, she glared at him like she would hit him. She nearly hopped to her feet. She stared down at him like he was a loathsome snake, and truly he felt like one. She was livid. He expected that. Hurt, mistrust and deep pain was reflected in her haunting eyes, before she turned and fled down the hillock.
Well, the claim had caused him an instant of feeling like someone had punched him in the gut. Most males would react the same way. Then, reason kicked in.
Jumping up, he grabbed his mantle from the ground and followed her. “Aithinne―”
“Do not Aithinne me, Damian St. Giles!” she snapped.
When he tried to take her elbow she ducked under his arm and away from him. He hurried his steps so he blocked her path to Gràdh. “I did not believe him, Aithinne. Only, I...”
She looked at him as if he crawled out from under a rock. “He lied. That shall be all I say on the matter.”
“I believe you,” he tried to assure her.
She was having none of it. “Och, go away, Sir Nodcock!”
She started toward the horses again, but he caught her arm and this time he would not let go when she tried to pull away. “I did not believe him about the child. But I did wonder...”
“Oooo…I promised not to hit you. But you really should stop opening your mouth and letting all that stupid tumble out, or I shall be obliged to close it for you―with my fist.” Her eyes flashed daggers at him. “Let go…now…Lord RavenHawke.”
Demons nibbling at him, he held fast. “When you came to my bed…that first night at Lyonglen―”
“Damn your eyes.” She was angry and fighting tears. Looking skyward, as if for divine intervention, she spoke carefully. “I shall tell you this once―since you seem determined to step squarely in the cow pie of your stupidity―I came to you a virgin.”
The words sprang forth, along with regret, but too late. “You came to my bed not a trembling virgin but experienced in the ways of the flesh. I did not take your maidenhead that night. There was no blood.”
“Amadán! If you do not leave me alone, I will show you blood.”
Challon came slowly up the hill, frowning at Damian as though he could not believe his cousin acted as such a knave. “Come, Lady Aithinne. Let me aid you to your mount. Sir Nodcock is too busy getting his booted foot out of his mouth.”