Heart of Stone by Rebecca Ruger
Chapter Twelve
It seemed like foreverago that he’d had to keep one eye on Julianna at all times, making sure she made no attempt to flee. This morning, however, he kept one eye on the trees in which she’d disappeared, ensuring she did not disturb upon or overhear what he had to say to his men.
“Lads, a word,” he advised as soon as he was reasonably sure she was beyond the range of hearing.
Everyone stopped what they were doing, turning their attention to Calum. All preparations to depart the camp ceased. They’d been trained well enough to make note of a person’s stance and body language and attitude—these things were critical within a battle and without—that they sensed Calum’s urgency and gathered close.
“Change of plans,” he said. “We’ll set out north today. I want to get to Laggan by nightfall.” He waited for the inevitable questions to come, prepared to do battle for what he was about to propose.
They asked nothing, said nothing. Frowning, Calum considered them, and all the knowing—pleased?—glances sent around and between the five men. They were less surprised than bemused, he imagined.
Finally, and with a grin Calum might have called significant, Finn asked, “Why Laggan?”
Calum thought a smirk was coming to Booth as well, but never could tell as his face, even in repose, appeared quite animated.
“She’s no’ going to Caerhayes,” he told them. “I’m taking her to the priory in...” This trailed off as laughter erupted all around him. Tomag slapped Artur on the shoulder with joy while Booth clapped his hands together with his thrill.
Confused and glowering, Calum grumbled, “Bunch of women. What the hell—”
“We were planning on spiriting her away from you,” Finn admitted. “About to do the same damn thing, tuck her away at an abbey.”
“Thought Laggan, same as you!” Peadar confessed.
Calum couldn’t help but grin, his relief massive. But he sobered quickly. He’d not ever, not once asked the opinion of any of his men, and certainly not ever collectively, including the younger lads, as he was about to do. But they were her friends as well.
“It’s the right thing to do, aye?”
Finn’s head rolled and his shoulders slumped with some sympathy. Artur nodded slowly, though his countenance was suddenly grim. Peadar shuffled his feet, staring at the ground. Tomag stared at Calum, so shocked by the uncertainty shown, something he’d never witnessed in Calum. Booth was motionless, his mouth dropped open.
Finn recovered first. “Bluidy hell, it’s the right thing to do!”
“She canna be returned to her stepfather,” Booth said sullenly.
Artur admitted, “And I have no faith that uncle of yours’ll no’ do the right thing.”
Calum met Artur’s always level gaze. There was some consolation that he wasn’t the only one questioning if she could possibly be safe at Caerhayes. “I can no’ put her life in his hands, as unpredictable as he is.” But bluidy hell, he’d told her not twelve hours ago that she was bound for Caerhayes, would be held there. She’d accepted that news, her only concern being whether he would be there, whether she would be able to see all of them. But aye, that had been before he’d held her again, before she’d wriggled her way further into his reckoning that he had to wonder at his own intent of last night. Had he wanted to kiss her for some greater purpose than only the need to feel her and know her touch, or hell, only to frustrate himself more? Had he needed to know that he had feelings for her before pulling this new plan from the back of his head? If she were important to him, valuable, did he really want to bring her to Caerhayes, tempt fate and Domhnall’s temper in that regard? And Christ, when the hell had he become so bluidy indecisive?
She was safer away from him. That was all.
Finn said, “We’ll tell Domhnall she escaped. We tried to recapture her. No luck, end of story. He wants to make war on Kinclaven, that’s different and I’m all for it. But we dinna want her anywhere near that or Domhnall.”
Calum nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, and it didn’t need too much imagining to know where he was at, already wondering how he might be able to simply deposit her at a convent and ride away.
He didn’t want to let her go. Not at all.
With greater sympathy, Artur said to Calum, “It has to be like this, lad.”
“Aye. I ken.”
“Good grief, what has happened?”
As one, they all turned at the sound of Julianna’s voice.
When no one answered quickly enough to suit her, she strode forward, her gaze skipping around from one man to the next. “Everyone’s here. There’s no blood.” Tossing her gaze to the left, she added, “Six horses yet. What is amiss then?” She was genuinely concerned, a small wrinkle furrowing between her brows.
Deflecting attention, Finn called out, “Someone give her the calamity she appears to be searching for so we can be on our way.”
This only creased her brow more.
“Naught awry here, lass,” Artur said, his shrug convincing. “Packing up.”
“Aye, that’s all we were about,” Peadar concurred.
Ah, but Julianna was clever and reminded them as much with a benign rebuke of her gaze. “Oh, you were talking about me.”
Finn rolled his eyes, genuinely perturbed. “Lass, when you ken we are and we’re trying to hide it from ye, dinna you ken to pretend you dinna ken?”
She tilted her head at him with no small amount of sass and lifted her brow to offer, “Shall I take to the trees to give you more time to talk about me?”
Ever one to misconstrue sarcasm, Booth answered, “Nae, lass. We’re done now.”
Grinning himself now, Calum walked by Julianna, taking her hand as he passed, turning her around to follow him. They were, in fact, all set to head out. He’d held her hand many times now, had steered her often, but never had he ever been overly distracted by the feel of her long fingers or the smoothness of her skin, but then never had she ever moved her thumb so gratifyingly, so sensuously over the back of his hand.
If she noticed that they were once again headed north, she said nothing. For the first hour, she maintained conversation with Artur, who kept pace beside them as they winded their way through a shallow glen and over heathered fields, in no particular hurry to make Laggan too soon.
“But Artur,” she was saying, “how can you be sure he was, in fact, a Slúagh?”
Calum rolled his eyes, even as he was curious how Artur might respond to this. The man was ever anxious for fresh ears, that he might repeat the tale once more, and happily promoted his fable to Julianna regarding the Slúagh, the host of the dead.
“Aye, but Black John, and that’s what we called ’im as his heart and hair and teeth were of the same color, he did fall into a dispute with Kenneth, son of Oer, though they’d once been on friendly terms. And Kenneth, aye, he’d always wrought much contemplation, his visage as white as snow, save for when it was blue when it actually did turn colder. So, Black John and Kenneth, they proceeded to blows, black against white, and it came as a shock to none to see that Black John quickly gained the upper hand. But aye, does no’ Kenneth somehow rise above him—off his feet, I say, into the air—and salute him upside the head with a rock he’d no’ been holding when first engaged?”
Julianna was unconvinced. “It sounds less Slúagh-like, and possibly easily explained by supposing that Kenneth somehow managed to purloin a rock from the ground during the scuffle and then simply jumped high to strike the larger man.”
Artur sighed, his frown not lost on Julianna. “Lass, you’re doing a fair job of spoiling that which has been the backbone of my story-telling capabilities for nigh on a decade. Will ye no’ play along? Raise your brows with some astonishment and say, Aye, Artur, what a fine story you weave. What an interesting life you’d led.”
She giggled in response to this, casting her gaze up to Calum before she remarked, “If I understand correctly then, my participation is not strictly required, if I’m not allowed to question the accuracy of your recollection. Seems I might only drift off for a sweet morning nap and simply aim my slumbering face your way, and you might pretend I’m actually listening.”
Calum could hear the teasing in her tone, suspected Artur did as well, though the man upheld his feigned displeasure, seeming to enjoy the wee bit of fun Julianna was having at his expense.
“Aye, might as well, lass, if you’re to question every word I put out.”
“No, no. Try another one on me, Artur. I will endeavor to believe it might be real.”
Even Calum grinned at this. Endeavor to believe shouldn’t give Artur too much hope that her reception would be any kinder to his next tale. But he offered her another, nevertheless.
“Weel,” he began, “there was the time we were riding through Leith, the night as dark as pitch when we all agreed we did encounter a bogie.”
Julianna harrumphed. “A bogie? An Unseelie?”
Artur groused, “Lass, I’ve no’ even given you the details and you’re jumping down my throat with your disbelief.”
“But you know, Artur, that bogies are not real, that they were invented by harried parents to scare their bairns into good behavior?”
Yet disturbed by her resistance, Artur threw her own words back at her, lifting his scratchy voice into a hilarious falsetto. “I’ll endeavor to believe. Hah!”
Julianna laughed as well, her fingers sliding along Calum’s as his hand rested upon her midsection, his hold loose yet comfortable, familiar.
He wasn’t any happier than any other man in their party when they came within a few miles of Laggan. The near-constant conversation and merriment they’d shared all day with both outlandish tales and those less fanciful seemed to quiet all at once.
“Getting late now,” Finn noted.
“Supper hour come and gone,” Booth said.
“Be a shame to rouse a house likely settled for the night, just to deliver a package.” This, from Artur, who tipped his head at Calum, and lifted his brow with more hope than any worry over the hours the priory might keep.
But he understood what they were getting at, and what they were suggesting. It would have been easy to acquiesce, would have been so damn easy. One more night, mayhap one more day....
“It gets done tonight,” he said with more vehemence than he felt, “before it’s too late.”
Before he kissed her again, before he became any more enamored with her, before he couldn’t let her go.
“Rouse which house?” Julianna asked then through a large yawn.
She set her hand onto Calum’s thighs to adjust herself, as her position over the last few hours became more reclined than seated. Calum grimaced, his eyes widening, when she wiggled her bottom where it sat between his legs, bringing herself more upright. Jesu. The lass had no idea what havoc those slight, seemingly insignificant actions just wreaked upon his person.
As no one had answered, Julianna repeated the question.
“Nun’s house,” Calum finally said.
“Ooh, we’re going to sleep under a roof this night,” she guessed and asked, of no one in particular, “do you think they’ll offer—or even have—feather beds and soft cotton blankets for us?”
A wee bit of silence dragged at that moment, none so eager to correct her yet, advising you and not us.
Finn recovered first. “Aye, like as no’, lass. But you’ll no’ fuss if they dinna, aye?”
The priory came into view shortly after, first its softly flickering lights from the few torches maintained about the three story keep, and then the shadowy outline of the buildings was sketched upon the cloudy sky.
***
“ARE YOU NOT CONCERNED, Finn?” Julianna asked nearly an hour later. “Are you not worried that he’s been gone too long?”
“It’s a nunnery, lass,” Finn returned, his mood soured since the priory came into view. “It’s no’ a garrison of English bumblers.”
“I only wondered if maybe they were—the abbess I guess it would be—denying us accommodation. Mayhap Calum is needing to use his charm to talk her into it?”
“That’d put us under the stars for sure,” quipped Tomag.
“Perhaps I should have gone with him,” Julianna suggested. “If they noticed a woman within the party, they’d likely be more inclined to offer hospitality.”
“It’ll be fine, lass,” Artur said.
The group, minus Calum, waited well outside the superficial gates—Murkle Priory, the name plate on the stone of the wall announced. The fence, as well as the gate, was only aesthetic, Julianna decided. The stacked-stone wall was of no greater height than she. Likely any one of these men—or any person bent on gaining entry—could scale it with ease. And though she couldn’t be certain as the darkness didn’t allow her to see too much, she wasn’t sure the wall completely surrounded the building it contained.
It was another ten minutes before Calum did return, on foot, as he’d left his steed with them, despite the length of the drive inside the gate.
As he neared, Julianna felt a shiver course through her that his gaze was set so heatedly upon her. At the same time, she recognized that this was not the same intense regard shown when he was about to kiss her. No, just now, the line of his mouth was set with annoyance. Mayhap the abbess had been difficult. As he strode within a few steps of her, he shifted his regard to Finn, announcing, “Aye, it’s all set.” He lifted his hand to his captain and was given a pouch of coins, which was weighty, Julianna could see. Apparently, the abbess had struck a hard bargain.
His jaw shifted, accentuating the chiseled bone of his cheeks. Facing Julianna again, he offered his hand. “We’ll walk.”
Julianna eagerly placed her hand in his, delighted by the thrill that always came when he touched her, and by her very ponderings—those of only moments ago—wondering if she might somehow manage to share a chamber with Calum tonight. It was wicked to imagine such a thing, outrageous even, but she hadn’t the power to remove the idea from her head.
They were halfway up the long drive before Julianna realized they walked alone. She sent a glance over her shoulder. No one followed. The men were yet outside the gates that they were lost to the night, invisible now.
Calum said nothing, only kept walking toward the huge double doors that were yet closed but awaited them.
Julianna’s heart lurched and her breath caught. She stumbled a bit, though was kept on her feet by Calum’s strong hand.
“You are leaving me here,” she guessed, all the shock and sorrow and anguish given leave to invade her voice.
He stopped. Turning sideways to face her, he looked back at where his men waited before meeting Julianna’s gaze.
“I am saving you,” he said thickly, his eyes dark pools of churning water.
“But...leaving me, nonetheless,” was all she could manage until questions surfaced, tumbling over one another. “Why? When did you know this? But you just said last night that I—"
“Julianna, you are safer here than at Caerhayes, safer than Kinclaven, I ken.”
She couldn’t process everything, her mind blanking on her suddenly. She glanced back into the darkness beyond the gate. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“They’re no’ good with farewells.” He lifted her hand and pressed the bag of coins into it.
A frown came, as swiftly as the dawning of understanding did. “My God, you sold me to the nunnery.”
Calum’s frown was equally feral. “I did no’,” he barked. “I paid your way, that you’d be kept in comfort until...”
She waited but he did not finish. “Until what? When?”
A tint of sadness colored his gaze, but she thought it only because he had no proper answer to give her. “I dinna ken, lass.”
“Then...you won’t be coming back for me?”
Calum shook his head. He held her gaze. “I dinna...” and whatever he might have said died inside his head.
“Please don’t do this,” she begged. “Please don’t leave me here.”
“Lass, you’re no’ safe with me.”
“Yes, I am.”
He went on as if she’d hadn’t spoken. “My uncle, he’s no’ always predictable.”
“You’ve always kept me safe,” she said at the same time.
He twisted his mouth but said no more.
Just like that, she thought. Knock on a door, hand over some coin, and be done with her. Somewhere inside, a voice snickered at her for what hope she’d allowed to rise. She might well have been chasing Nicol Waiddo once again, unseen or overlooked, insignificant. Save that Calum MacKinnon had played it—her—differently.
“I see,” she said stiffly.
She shouldn’t feel such sadness, should instead feel relief. When had the fear of death or imprisonment abandoned her so completely? When had being with them—with Calum—overtaken everything else? She had no answers and the mournfulness expanded, that her chest was tight and seared with heat.
Julianna took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She’d be damned if she let him see the depth of her sadness.
“Very well,” she said with a false smile, one that pained her. She unwrapped his plaid from around her shoulders and shoved it at him. “I wish you God speed, wherever you are bound, and I thank you for...for being kinder to me than you needed to be.” She had to get away, before the tears fell.
Calum unraveled the balled-up tartan and flipped it over her head that the middle of it landed on her shoulders. Holding the edges, he pulled her toward him. His mouth covered hers gently, his lips molding against hers with a familiar velvet heat. Julianna shoved her hands between them and pushed at his chest.
When a foot of space was created between them, she wrenched the fabric from his hands and held it tightly to her chest, closing herself off. Ignoring the hurt she thought she read in his eyes, she stammered, “F-farewell, Calum MacKinnon.”
She hadn’t much time; tears already gathered in her eyes. Clumsily, she spun away from him and proceeded toward the priory doors, the Judas coins heavy in her hand. Only a few seconds had passed before her arm was gripped from behind and Calum whirled her around to face him again. He would have claimed her lips again, she knew, but for the doors opening before them, spilling a golden light into the nearest parts of the yard. This gave Calum pause. His fingers loosened on her arm, though he did not release her. Though they faced each other, Calum and Julianna turned as one toward the open doors and the persons waiting there.
“Ah, this would be Julianna Elliot, then,” said an aged but gentle voice.
Julianna could make out no face, as the light was behind the speaker.
“Aye,” said Calum with no small amount of irritability, likely for the poor timing of the interruption.
Julianna tried to move away from him. He held her arm still that she turned and gave him a beseeching look.
The glare he returned was pleading as well. “Julianna....”
No. She wouldn’t give him the opportunity to say more words, to make himself feel better, when her heart was breaking because of him. Through clenched teeth, she whispered, “Let me go.”
His lip curled, much as it had when first they met. So their beginning was to be as their end. So be it.
She pulled again, freeing her arm from his frozen fingers.
She turned and walked toward the light and she never looked back, even as the tears finally fell.
Damn you, Calum MacKinnon.