Heart of Stone by Rebecca Ruger

Chapter Six

The alehouse teemedwith people that they were forced to twist and turn their way through the noisy throng. With so many persons and bodies squeezed into the large room, Julianna could see little beyond Tomag’s back in front of her and the rough-hewn clad arms and chests and backs of people they passed. She was cognizant of Calum’s words that the citizens distrusted outsiders and was aware of the din lowering as they walked through the place. Calum never let go of her, in fact stayed very close to her that the back of her arm brushed regularly against his side while they moved.

Finally, Tomag found them an empty table, a large booth which took up an entire corner. The L-shaped accommodation had been built to seat a large number of persons. But these MacKinnon men were large as well that the seven of them were squeezed rather tightly onto the wooden benches. As they had to press closer and closer to each other so that Booth, the last to sit, could fit on the bench, Julianna was snuggled tightly between Finn on her left and Calum on her right. Calum lifted his arm over her head, extending it behind her and along the back of the bench, which did allow her a bit more space. It was not ideal, however, as she felt his forearm against the back of her head, which put in her mind the feel of his fingers on her neck and back earlier.

She was distracted then by something jutting into her side. Glancing down, Julianna realized it was the dagger he’d used only moments ago, pressing into her. She scooched ever so slightly closer to Finn. She felt Calum turn and fix her with a stare but did not address this at all, pretended to have no knowledge of his curious regard.

It wasn’t very long before a middle-aged woman approached them, harried and perspiring. She said nothing, merely lifted a brow at the table in general, her gaze falling briefly but dispassionately upon Julianna.

“What’re they cookin’ today?” Finn asked cheerily.

“Who knows what’s left?” The woman answered wearily. “Ye want fare as well as ale then? Wine, too?”

“Load us up,” Finn said. “But no’ the wine. Ale’ll do us fine.”

The harried woman pressed a fisted hand into her plump hip. “Ye’ll be paying’ in advance. Ye look like trouble and like as no’, none here’ll take ye on to get me coin if you skip out on it.”

Unoffended and grinning, Finn produced a small pouch and handed a goodly amount of coin to the woman. Both the server and Julianna’s brows lifted at this generosity. The woman dashed away, tucking the coin in to her filthy apron pocket.

With some excitement for being so close to food to fill her belly, Julianna put her elbows on the table and fisted her hands over her mouth. She shouldn’t be smiling—it might well be her last meal—but she couldn’t help it. If someone had told her ever that one day she would grin like a fool at the very thought of food, she’d have scoffed with disbelief.

She lent only half an ear to the conversation at the table—they were discussing how this burgh had grown over the last few years—even as she acknowledged she might learn much about these men if she paid them more heed. But first, her eyes wandered all around the room. She couldn’t see much, as so many men, and an occasional woman, were crammed all around the establishment, some standing in close proximity to their table. She’d never once been inside a public alehouse and the atmosphere, at once chaotic and somehow very charming—communal, she’d have said—appealed to her greatly. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and grease and her skirts were sticking to the bench, but she didn’t care; she thought it all quite agreeable.

When Calum spoke, which by now she surmised he did rarely, she returned her attention to those around her.

“We might find him yet near Elcho,” he said.

From across the table, Artur sent a dubious look to Calum. “Ye think? He’s likely cleared out of there by now.”

“He won’t move far until he’s amassed the numbers he needs,” Calum contended, swiping lazily at some debris left upon the table. “When next we move, we should head that way—” His men balked at this, whatever he spoke of. Calum held up a hand to quiet them. “No’ to stay, just to see where he’s at, what he needs. But prepare yourselves, we will join him soon.”

Grumbled ayes answered this. Julianna might have given greater contemplation to what—or whom—they might be discussing, but her thoughts were stolen by the reappearance of the snarly woman, who slapped a tray of tankards down upon the table. She lifted each one off the wooden tray and onto the table and then turned as several young lads approached as well, their hands laden with food.

Julianna’s eyes widened when a trencher was laid before her. It was a pottage of sorts, she guessed, inhaling deeply of the rising steam. She didn’t care if it were made with stones and dirt, it smelled delicious. Ignoring everyone now, she dug right in, breaking off the bread of the trencher to soak up the thick gravy, plopping the morsel into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed slowly, savoring every bite. Her shoulders sagged in sublime joy, for how wonderful it tasted, for how it felt, warm and gooey sliding down her throat. Belatedly, she realized she’d leaned back, that her head rested fully on Calum MacKinnon’s forearm. Embarrassed, she tipped her face forward and proceeded to shovel several heartier bites into her mouth, loading the broken and crusty bread with meat—she thought it might be rabbit—and carrots and leeks.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you eat too fast,” Calum cautioned quietly at her side.

She turned, considering him, her right cheek jutting out with the mouthful of stew inside. Detecting no antagonism, she decided she didn’t care. It was heavenly, certainly not the best meal she’d ever encountered but one she knew she would remember long after they were gone. She did, however, slow her chewing, counting at least to twenty before swallowing.

The talk turned silly, in Julianna’s estimation, with Booth and Peadar discussing a lass named Ceit. Julianna decided fairly quickly that the lads were both keen on her and that this subject was not new to any of these men.

“She’ll no’ look at either of you again,” Tomag insisted.

“What the bluidy hell were ye thinking?” Wondered Artur, shaking his head. “First time she looks yer way, ye think a fine time to ask if she’ll take on the both of ye.”

This wrought plenty of laughter from all those at the table. Finn nearly spit out his ale. Julianna had no idea what take on might mean in this context, but she had a suspicion that it was something of a bawdy nature. She continued to eat, completely uncaring that her stomach was near to bursting already, while they continued to talk.

“’Twas Peadar’s idea,” Booth accused. “He said she’d done as much with Mal and Colm last winter.”

“But ye got to warm her up first, lads,” Finn insisted.

Peadar chewed his lip before saying earnestly, “She said we were good friends and she wanted to remain as such. I think she’ll come around.”

Julianna grimaced at this tidbit of news, licking her fingers clean of the bread and broth. The picture of Ceit was becoming clearer. Perusing the plate set in the center of the table, filled with cheese and fruit and soft bread, Julianna debated if she had room yet for more.

“What’s the puss for, lass?”

Startled, Julianna lifted her face to Artur, who’d posed the question. She hadn’t realized anyone had noticed. “Um,” she said, stalling. In all probability, they were not interested in her thoughts on this subject of the lass named Ceit. “Nothing at all.”

“If you’ve got insight to share,” Finn said at her side, a chuckle sounding in his tone, “these two could sure use it.”

Glancing around, Julianna noticed that indeed, Booth and Peadar were both watching her expectantly. A quick glance at Calum MacKinnon suggested it might be all right if she added to the discussion. His mouth was quirked with a bit of a grin. This transfixed her, but only for a moment, until Peadar begged she share what she knew.

She swallowed and set her wrists on the table. A sympathetic moue preceded her stated opinion. “If she has called you friend, I’m afraid that’s all you’ll ever be.”

Peadar shook his head in denial, his eyes still rimmed with dark circles, while Booth frowned at her. This provoked more laughter from the others.

“Aye, but you’re shredding their hearts, lass,” Finn said.

“Are you sure?” Peadar asked.

Julianna nodded. “Sadly, yes. It’s a ploy used by lasses who either don’t want to hurt your feelings or....” She stopped, unwilling to deliver the rest of the information.

Finn chuckled, enjoying himself tremendously, nudging her on with a light elbow at her side. “Out with it, lass. They’ll no’ learn unless they ken it all.”

Wincing a bit, Julianna finished, “Or if they think...you are pathet—if they feel sorry for you.”

And now the guffaws and laughter reached new heights.

Feeling terrible for having imparted this news, Julianna softened it with, “But in either case, it means she is a good person or she’d have....” Julianna shrugged, searching for the term she wanted.

Tomag gave an assist. “She’d have told them to take a bluidy—”

“Jesu!” Finn objected. “Language, lad!”

“Aye, sorry, lass.”

“Have you used this ploy?” Calum surprised her by asking.

Julianna’s cheeks pinkened. She felt the heat travel across her face and believed it would be hard to deny the truth now.

Another cheery uproar greeted this, with Finn and Artur encouraging her to share the experience.

“Only way the lads’ll learn,” Finn reminded her.

Julianna was beginning to believe that Finn only liked to be entertained and was much less concerned if Peadar and Booth gleaned anything useful from her words. “Um. Well...yes, I have. Actually, aside from my youngest sister, I’m not sure I know a female who hasn’t employed this...ruse.” She finished with another apologetic grimace aimed at Peadar, who blew out a rough breath, unhappy with all this knowledge. She hoped they would press no further.

“C’mon then,” Artur prompted. “Out with it. What caused you to have need of such a hoax?”

Dismissively, Julianna assured them in a small voice, “You don’t want to hear this.”

Several calls of, “Aye, we do!” were returned. Finn banged his tankard on the table.

Julianna demurred and turned her face to meet Calum’s watchful gaze. She pointed to his half-eaten trencher, which he hadn’t touched in several minutes. “Are you going to finish that?” She inquired, adeptly changing the subject.

He showed a true grin now, likely aware of her tactic, and reached forward to move his trencher closer to her. “Be my guest.”

Julianna really had no available space in her stomach for anything else but preceded to pick away at Calum’s leftovers, keeping her eyes on the food. She tried not to dwell on how spectacularly handsome Calum MacKinnon was when he smiled.

Sweet St. Andrew, was he handsome!

***

THE LAST DAY AND Ahalf had been quite a revelation to Calum. Hell, since the moment he’d first stepped foot upon Elliot land, he’d been tilted off his axis by this lass.

He wrestled still with so many questions about yesterday’s performance, when Spence and so many others had come to save her. And a performance it had been! He couldn’t reconcile the uptight, anxious lass who’d been riding with him for days now with that frivolous minx who’d so effortlessly charmed Gavin Spence—and many others, if he had to guess.

He couldn’t yet delve into the startling disclosure she’d given him today. But do not forget, sir, that gold exchanged hands as well. He would need to discuss it with Finn and Artur, couldn’t just now wrap his brain around all that lone statement implied—if it were true. And quite frankly, he wasn’t capable just now of giving it the time and attention that it required, certainly not when she was so damnably engaging just now.

This morning, his first glimpse of her had lifted his brows, had also nearly brought a chuckle. In all likelihood, she had no idea how ridiculous she’d appeared then. Her hair was a mess; it was still held together but so much looser that it seemed inflated, rather helm-like and too big for her delicate face. It was nearly comical that Calum had all he could to keep from smiling.

It had been a mistake to offer his help, though. He wasn’t sure if lavender and honey were merely part of her natural essence, but he had to wonder how a lass who’d been through what she had and had seen three days pass, could still smell so damnably delicious. He wouldn’t—shouldn’t—dwell on the feel of her soft skin under his fingers when he’d attempted to help her with the chaos of her hair. He still wasn’t sure what had sent her scurrying out from under his hands so quickly, but it had saved him a huge embarrassment, he was sure. Damn, but the sight of a lass’s nape should not be so bluidy enticing.

She obviously had no idea how bonny she was. And Calum was struggling to figure out how she appeared even comelier the more bedraggled she became. But then—then!—she’d finally managed to remove all those maddening pins from her hair, had combed it efficiently with her fingers and when they’d dismounted at the alehouse, he’d been faced with a startlingly beautiful woman, had been so stirred by the sight of her shiny blonde hair fallen down to her hips that he’d not been capable of foreseeing the trouble the shiny locks might incite, as Finn had been able to do.

He also determined that she had no idea how transparent she was, how easily she enlightened a person about herself by seemingly simple conversation, by her repeated blushing. So much was revealed solely in her expressions. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met a person who so readily—unknowingly?—wore every emotion on their face.

Presently, he didn’t like that his men were becoming friendly with her. In fact, so often over the years, he’d been forced to caution them against any dialogue with prisoners, though they’d known but few. Captives would use any ploy to win their freedom, would play on weaknesses by appealing to emotions, would try to form bonds with their captors—all with one purpose: freedom. He wouldn’t have suspected her clever enough to have planned any such thing, but after her little feat yesterday, and having smacked straight into his own baffling reactions to her today, he wouldn’t have ruled it out either. But then he couldn’t, for the life of him, put a stop to it now. She’d just advised the very green Booth and Peadar what it actually meant when a lass called you her friend. That she’d felt awful for giving them the truth had not escaped Calum’s notice.

She couldn’t be faking all this, could she? Was this personality, this agreeable and—bluidy hell—likable persona in reality her genuine self, or was she truly that clever?

Julianna sat still for a while, slumped comfortably into the booth, uncaring now that her head leaned back on his arm, as she had been earlier. Her hand lay over her midsection, a familiar pose of one satiated with foodstuffs. He thought her eyes might be closed now.

Artur dumped the platter of cheese and tidbits from the middle of the table into the jute sack he’d brought for just this purpose while the cantankerous serving woman filled their horns and flasks one by one, charging them an exorbitant three pence for that round.

By the time they were ready to leave, three men had made a home adjacent to their table that when they stood, they were forced to empty the booth in only one direction. Thus, Calum walked ahead of Julianna as they made their way through the throng. She might not have been aware, her attention so rapturous upon the meal for most of the last hour, but Calum hadn’t missed one glance sent her way. And there had been plenty. Looking over his shoulder showed that she was close. For good measure, he sought and found her hand, holding it firmly that she remained near to him until they gained the street outside. Before he faced forward again, Finn had given him a nod over her head, directly behind her. He had no doubt his captain, too, had noticed all the interest she’d attracted. He’d counted only four women inside this alehouse among the dozens of men. Not one of them could lay claim to being even half as bonny as Julianna Elliot.

Artur and Tomag led the way, forced to turn sideways on occasion to slip past the more crowded sections. Calum watched every person as they neared, making note of a group of three men standing in a row, their gazes rapt upon Julianna, more so than any others. He lifted her hand, pretending only to steer her through a tight area, but making sure the connection was seen by many. He kept his free hand on the hilt of his sword.

“On yer right,” Finn called out to him, obviously having made note of those three with the keen stares.

“Aye.”

Two of those three men made only fleeting eye contact with Calum, and only to gauge his dedication to his protection. As he passed, his fingers involuntarily tightened around Julianna’s. And yet, despite his concentration, he was unprepared for her slight cry of surprise, or for the resistance in her hand. Before he’d even turned, he’d unsheathed his sword. He heard the sound of other swords being drawn, the growl of steel as it was wrenched from the metal interior of scabbards. Only a split second had passed before he did turn, expecting to have to place his blade against the neck of one of those three leering men.

Instead, he found that Julianna had beat him to it.

And with the dagger from Calum’s belt.

“Bluidy hell, Julianna,” Calum growled. She would get them all killed if this throng turned on them.

Julianna turned angry green eyes onto him, while she still held his knife tight against the man’s throat. “He grabbed my...” she clamped her lips, her face reddening.

“Grabbed her arse,” Finn said heatedly at the same time. His blade held off the man next to the one who’d apparently accosted Julianna.

The alehouse had gone completely still. For several seconds while Calum sized up the entire situation, not a sound was heard. Tomag and the others all had drawn their swords, had crowded Julianna, Calum, and Finn, forcing a perimeter around their entire group.

Smoothly, Calum covered Julianna’s hand with his own, forcing her to lower the dagger.

“He’s about to apologize for his transgression and then we’ll be on our way,” he said, loud enough for many to hear.

Julianna had surrendered the knife to him so that when the man began to argue, Calum himself now pressed it against the man’s jowly throat. “You will apologize.”

The one beside him—a relation, if their matching jowls were anything to go by—spoke up, as the one under the knife appeared suddenly quite tongue-tied.

“He got excited, that’s all. Just lost ’is wife and this one here, well she reminds ’im something fierce of ’is lost love.”

“A bigger load of horseshite I ’aven’t heard,” Artur barked over his shoulder, his back to Calum.

“As if a lass who looks like this one would bind herself to that,” Finn snarled with disbelief, sneering at the offender.

“Still waiting on that apology,” Calum said in quiet, dangerous voice, agreeing with Artur.

“A-aye, lass. Beggin’ pardon.”

“Very well,” Julianna said, apparently satisfied or wanting the episode to be done.

Satisfied himself and wanting to be away before it dawned on these people that they outnumbered the MacKinnons by as many as four to one, Calum lowered the dagger, sheathing his sword at the same time. He grabbed Julianna’s hand, but she resisted yet again, turning toward the offender once more. Pertly, she admonished, “Please do not make loose with body parts that are not your own, sir. It is quite distressing and, as you can see, it can nearly get you killed.”

While Calum quickly produced a cough to cover the bark of laughter that wanted to come, he was aware of either Booth or Tomag having much less success suppressing their own chortle.

When they moved again, a path to the door was cleared, and while Calum again held Julianna’s hand, he was not unaware of her other hand, clinging to his belt as she followed so close in his wake.

Outside the alehouse, they went quickly to collect their steeds, needing to put distance between themselves and these roused locals, just in case. Julianna was forced to jog to keep pace with their long strides.

The men threw praise over their shoulders as they hustled, their good humor enlivened.

“Bluidy hell, lass,” began Artur, “that’s some quick reflexes.”

“The eejit pissed himself, I swear.” This, from Tomag.

“I haven’t had that much fun since that ruckus down at Alltbiethe,” joined Booth.

Calum offered no similar commendation, but he did acknowledge the whole scene was fairly remarkable. She was fairly remarkable in that instant.

Unmoved by their praise, Julianna wondered, “Why are we running?”

“We might still get kilt for your little stunt though, lass,” answered Finn through his laughter.

“Good grief.”

Within minutes, the legs of their destriers carried them away from the burgh. They stayed close to the River Clyde, winding their way north with no particular care for speed after the first half hour.

Julianna dozed in front of Calum after a spell, her loaded gullet likely having something to do with her sleepiness in the middle of the day. He couldn’t ignore her now as he’d quite successfully managed to do when she’d ridden with him yesterday. Not after that incident at the alehouse, not after having met the silky warmth of her skin. And certainly not when she’d made herself so distractingly comfortable against him. As before, he’d placed her sideways in the saddle that her legs pressed against his left thigh while she’d nestled herself against his chest, her hands clasped together and tucked under her chin. Calum made no excuse for adjusting his right arm around her back so that she might rest more comfortably. His vantage point allowed him but small glimpses of her face. Glancing down showed him the sweep of thick lashes across her cheek and the line of her nose, where beneath sat a mouth he explored with greater intrigue. Her lips were full, and she was possessed of a slightly crooked front tooth that made her top lip appear as wide and thick as her bottom. In repose, her face was angelic, but Calum mused that these moments were rare indeed, come only with slumber, as he’d witnessed so much of her raw defiance. Admittedly, he’d seen less of that today than before. Today, she’d looked at him for guidance, had silently asked if she might contribute to Peadar and Booth’s foolishness. Her eyes had been curious and unafraid at that moment, the green clear and startling. When she’d dodged the attention of his men by inquiring if she might finish Calum’s meal—where she might put it, Calum hadn’t been able to determine—he’d suspected some merriment in her gaze, her eyes lit with mischief, he’d thought. He decided he’d take any wager that supposed she’d had need of the friend ploy more than once in her life.

The sun had long ago begun to throw elongated shadows when they followed a path down a steep incline, winding between large rocks, which did rouse Julianna for the downhill momentum. She was tipped slightly forward, instinctively latching on to Calum’s forearms.

“Easy,” he soothed.

She settled. Calum felt the initial stiffness upon waking leave her. She sighed and leaned against him once more though she did not sleep, but watched their progress, or possibly the butt of the steeds or the backs of Tomag and Finn ahead of them.

When they reached the base of the hill, she asked, “Do you find it ironic?” Julianna asked. “That you earlier defended my honor, so to speak, when you yourself intend to have me executed?”

He closed his eyes with his own disquiet. His initial—strictly internal—response was, Why did she have to ruin this nice ride and his fine thoughts with her provoking query? He exhaled roughly, realizing it was a good thing, actually. He’d begun to see her as possibly innocent and maddeningly bewitching and that was a very bad idea, to see her as anything other than what she was, a dead lass walking, for her sins against the MacKinnons.

My betrothed was due to arrive and for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to look my best!

Her words slammed into him with all the force of the flat of a broadsword to the back of the head. Calum’s mouth twisted with agony. It was impossible to recall these words and not wonder why a lass would have spent so many hours sitting and having her hair arranged if she had any idea her betrothed would not actually ever step foot inside her home.

Ignoring her question, he asked what had been at the back of his mind since they’d left the alehouse. “Why didn’t you use my dagger on me?”

She didn’t turn again toward him, but her head shifted, moving left and then right, as if she were surprised by the question. Her shoulders lifted in a slim and slow shrug. “Because you haven’t...you haven’t harmed me.”

Calum mouthed an explicit curse. Jesu. Did she do it intentionally? Was she that clever, that she was able to strike him so forcefully simply with words, as if she had indeed embedded a dagger into his flesh, cutting him raw?

He felt about as small as a man could feel at that moment. It was a novel sensation for him.

He didn’t like it one bit.

She said no more and when they stopped for the day an hour later, Calum thought to remind her of her circumstance by tying the rope around her wrist once more. She bore this silently, her head bent as she stood next to his horse, though not bent enough that he wasn’t aware of the distasteful pursing of her mouth. He did not attach the open end to his wrist but fetched the other rope from his saddlebag and led her through the area of the gorge by which they’d camp tonight. A rocky outcropping rising sharply above them cloaked the meager trail in shadows. Yellow brush forced its way between the rock at their feet, making for an uneven trek until the gurgling creek he followed widened into a deep pool at the inside corner of the gorge.

Yet soured by her earlier question, and then more so by her answer to his, Calum motioned her toward a straggly, near-dead birch.

“You want to be secured facing it or with your back to it?”

She was confused and then downright disagreeable, her slim brown brows knitting. “You are going to tie me here all night? So far away from camp? What if—”

“I’m going to wash away the grime, and I dinna wanting you wheedling an escape from any of them,” he said, tilting his head back to where his men made camp, believing it entirely possible that she could smile at any of his men and somehow manage to flee while he was otherwise occupied.

This did not mollify her at all. She actually rolled her eyes. “I am not of a mind to hug a tree.” Of her own accord, she moved and placed her back against it, putting the pool of water to her left.

Calum wrapped the length of the rope around and around, securing the knot at the opposite side of the tree. He had no desire to have to spring from his bath and chase her naked. When this was done, he strode toward the water, removing his belt and plaid, dropping them on the gradually declining bank where he’d left his leather saddlebag. As he lifted his tunic over his head, he heard her cry out.

“Wait. I didn’t know you were going to—I want to face the tree,” she decided now with some panic in her tone.

“Too late,” he said, sitting down to remove his boots, his back to her, letting a smirk unfurl.