Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton
Chapter Twelve
Isobel’s body was on fire. Her wrist was hot, searing at each tiny touch of Kieran’s fingers on her skin and sending waves of warmth through her. She’d continued to wear the bracelet, but not because of any magic it held to keep the nightmares at bay. No, she wore it now because of who had given it to her, because of the kindness he’d shown her and the way he’d made her feel.
She wore it now because she loved Kieran Buchanan.
“Ye showed me kindness during a dark period of my life. I like to think I can do the same for others.”
He nodded, though he didn’t look convinced. “Do ye ever wish ye could go back and do something differently?”
“Different? Aye. I’d like to go back, to be awake when they arrived to burn my house so I could warn my parents and neighbors in time. I used to wish that. But what good would it do? We canna go back and change the past.”
“But we can get vindication for it,” he said. A darkness crept into his eyes that startled Isobel, and she slipped her wrist free of his touch, wrapping her fingers around his.
He looked at her, searching her face. “Ye dinna wish for the men to suffer the way they made yer parents suffer?”
“What good would it do?” she asked.
“It would honor yer parents’ memory. Avenge their wrongful deaths.”
Isobel could see conviction in the lines of his face, and her heart reached out to him. She’d long since learned that holding on to the anger hurt herself but did nothing to the men that had killed her parents.
“I honor my parents in other ways,” she whispered.
“How?”
“By being the woman they raised me to be. By respecting my chief and obeying his commands. I owe him my life, and I think my parents would be gratified by my fealty.”
Kieran shook his head, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he tightened his hold on hers as though he didn’t want to let go. But his eyes were troubled.
“I canna do that. I willna rest easily until I’ve avenged my father.”
Isobel’s heart hurt for the suffering he must have endured, for that which obviously still persisted in his heart. He hid it so well. “Ye fought the Duncans fairly today.”
A sad smile played at his lips. “I dinna want to kill the whole clan. I only want to find the man who killed my father.”
He didn’t finish his ambition, but Isobel had no trouble filling in the unsaid goal. He wanted to exact revenge, to kill the man who had killed his father. “How will ye find him?”
“I havna figured that out yet,” he said. “I think I will plan a journey of my own when we return to Moraigh so I can gather information. I willna find him until I begin searching, and it’s been heavily on my mind these last few months. Though it will be difficult for all I know of the man is that he has black hair and is missing an ear. My father’s friend was badly wounded, but he supplied me with that information.”
“Where is yer father’s friend now?”
“He died later,” Kieran said softly. “His wounds were substantial, and he didna last verra long.”
“Did they ken what the Duncan men wanted?”
“Nay. But it was political, I ken that much. My father wanted a Stewart on the throne, and he wasna quiet about it. He attended all sorts of meetings and cared for naething so great as his cause. It led him to that fateful night, I’m certain. Some of those who oppose the Jacobites do so fiercely. My father’s friend seemed to think their attackers were of that persuasion.” He clenched his jaw. “But my father was a peaceful man. He didna care for the feud or the strife between the clans. He only cared for what he believed was the best for Scotland.”
“I’m sorry, Kieran.”
He smiled ruefully. “The man with one ear will pay. I will find him. Someday.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “Ye dinna appear to be in a hurry.”
“I’m not. I ken it’ll happen when the time is right.”
“And until then, ye plan to aid McEwan in his efforts to strengthen his men.”
“Aye. In the event that McEwans once again go to battle against Duncans, we will be victorious.”
It was no small wonder that the man beside her hadn’t had time for women. He’d been too busy planning and slowly enacting his revenge. It was so obvious now, she wondered why she hadn’t noticed before. Kieran hadn’t ever been known to be involved with a lass, and she wondered, for the first time, if he ever would.
“Do ye not wish to have a family of yer own?”
Kieran froze. “It would be impossible,” he said quietly. “I couldna live with myself if I had a family and put them in danger.”
His words hit her swiftly in the gut. She’d been in love with him for so long, and it had never mattered. He wouldn’t have loved her back anyway, regardless of what she did. She dropped his hand, her listless limb falling to her side, and she felt the sudden desire to be far away from him. His inability—or unwillingness, even—to love gave her the greatest sense of shame that she’d wasted so many years caring for the man for nothing.
In a sense, it was freeing to know that she couldn’t have done anything differently and he still wouldn’t have loved her. But it was embarrassing and disheartening all the same. Standing, she tugged her arisaid tightly around her shoulders and stepped away from him.
“I should get some rest,” she said. “Ye should, too.”
Kieran stood, towering over her. Snores from the tent on the far side of the clearing punctuated the silence, overtaking the popping of the fire and the bubbling of the nearby stream. The rest of the forest was asleep, giving Isobel the illusion that she was utterly alone with Kieran. She ached for him to hold her, to comfort her, but it would hurt more than it would soothe.
“Why do I feel as though I’ve said the wrong thing?” he asked.
She shook her head, unable to trust her voice.
“Will ye be all right?”
“Of course,” she said quickly. She was strong, tough. She could overcome this embarrassment. It would make what she had to do at Bongary Spring easier tomorrow, knowing that nothing would ever have come of her feelings for Kieran regardless of what she’d said or done. Now she would lose that love in her heart, and she would be healed. She could enter into her marriage with the laird of Dulnain without a broken heart making it harder than it already was.
It was foreign to be studied by Kieran, and she didn’t like the scrutiny. “If ye’ll excuse—”
He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead and freezing her in place. He tucked it behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek and sending a shiver down her neck. Her body shook, warring the heat from his touch with the cold night air prickling her skin. She wanted to fall forward into his arms but forced herself to remain still.
“Have ye anyone at home?” he asked quietly.
Anyone at home? Was Kieran asking if she had a man? She shook her head, but then stopped herself. Did the Duncan laird waiting for her hand in marriage count?
Kieran’s hand cupped her face, and she wanted to lean into his touch but compelled herself to remain upright.
“Ye surprise me with yer strength, Isobel.”
“I dinna ken whether to take that as a compliment or not.”
He smiled, and it melted her belly. “’Tis a compliment,” he whispered.
Isobel swallowed hard. The way he was looking at her now led her to believe that he intended to kiss her, that he wanted to close the space between them. She felt a connection with this man, albeit a tenuous one. The bond of shared grief tied them together; they understood the other’s pain. But as badly as she wished for him to kiss her, she knew it couldn’t happen. If she allowed him to kiss her now, she would never be able to forget him tomorrow—
She sucked in a small breath as awareness settled on her shoulders. Tomorrow she would drink from Bongary Spring. All her feelings for Kieran would wash away with the holy water, including anything she felt tonight. He could kiss her, and it wouldn’t plague her for the rest of her life.
She would be healed.
That thought lit a fire beneath her toes, flooding her with desire. She could kiss Kieran now and close the door on those feelings forever. If nothing else, it could help her to say goodbye, to close this chapter of her life.
Kieran’s stormy eyes were fastened on her, and she reached up, resting her hand on his arm. His fingers tightened on her, moving back and digging slightly into her hair.
They stood this way for too long, their arms tangled, their warm skin defying the cold air surrounding them, but neither made a move to forward their motions. Was he too much of a gentleman to kiss her like this? Isobel was unsure, but his lingering fingers at the nape of her neck and lost in her hair gave her courage.
Shoving aside all insecurity, Isobel reached up on tiptoe and slid her free hand around Kieran’s neck. Tugging softly, she pulled him lower from his monstrously tall height and brought his lips down to hers.
At first, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Kieran’s lips were soft, warm and still. He felt rigid, the muscles on his arm bunching beneath her grip. But then he moved, his arm coming around her waist and pulling her close, his fingers splaying over the small of her back beneath her arisaid.
Fire consumed Isobel’s chest, bursting through her body. She slid her hands up his arm, wrapping both of them around his neck. Kieran pulled her tightly against him, as though he couldn’t get her near enough, and tilted his head, deepening the kiss.
She felt her toes leave the ground, Kieran crushing her to his chest so hard he lifted her from the earth. Never before had she felt such strong heat build inside her, threatening to break free. Kissing Kieran was like basking in the sun, and she wanted it to be midsummer always.
A snore rent the air, startling them both, and Kieran dropped her, breaking the kiss immediately. Her feet hit the ground, and she gripped his shoulders to keep from falling, her chest heaving while her lungs clawed for air. They were quiet, both of them listening for any sound to indicate that Hugh had awakened, but his snores persisted.
“Sorry,” Kieran whispered.
Sorry for what? Kissing her or dropping her?
Before she could inquire, he bent again, kissing her tenderly, his lips playing with hers in apology. His movements were gentle, his hands grazing her back softly. It held none of the need from before, but it was just as sweet. When Kieran pulled away, he dropped his hands and stepped back, allowing the cold air to rush in and replace him, covering her body in a volley of unwelcome chills.
He regarded her for a moment before turning and tending to the fire, putting it out so he might go to sleep, and Isobel stood there, bereft as the warm glow from the fire darkened to nothing.
His tender kiss hadn’t been loving, it had been a goodbye. Isobel’s world had just turned over, and Kieran was able to walk away. She shoved down the hurt and lifted her chin. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t remember this feeling.
But for tonight, she would allow herself to wallow in it. She’d never been kissed like that before in her life—nay, she’d never been kissed before at all—and she had the distinct feeling that she’d never be kissed like that again.
* * *
Morning mist danced over the ground, thin and flighty like a specter sweeping over the frosted grass. Isobel hadn’t slept much, unable to banish thoughts of Kieran’s lips or the spring on the other side of the rock wall. The bubbling sound of running water grew louder the closer she drew to it, but doubt crept into her thoughts, forcing her to question the soundness of her plan.
If she was never to be kissed that gloriously again in her life, did she truly wish to lose that feeling and memory completely? For she was certain she would lose the memory. How else would Bongary Spring heal her?
Hugh and Kieran remained asleep, Hugh’s soft snores permeating the quiet as Isobel picked her way out of their campsite and toward the spring. She treaded through the thick, overgrown brush, but the footpath was beaten into the ground from years of use.
Bongary Spring was a trickle of water protruding from the sheer rock face and bleeding down into the stream that flowed through half of Inverness-shire. Its tall, dark rock was shiny, covered in moss and lichen, and Isobel faced it, her hands limp at her sides. Every color of the rainbow was represented in the offerings left on the rock; it was magnificent in its beauty, a quiet testimony of the others who had come before her, seeking help from the holy well.
Her eyes were gritty from her sleepless night, but hours of indecision came to an abrupt halt the moment Isobel faced Bongary Spring.
She hadn’t traveled this far to back down now. Isobel was going to be healed.
Drawing in a sustaining breath, she lifted her wrist and began working at the knot of the bracelet. She’d only believed it to contain magical properties for a few nights after Kieran had tied it to her wrist, but when the nightmares returned, she realized what Kieran had done—he’d offered her hope. Perhaps the magic was there and had simply worn off, or perhaps it hadn’t been strong enough to ward off the nightmares forever. What Isobel knew to be true was that the bracelet had worked for a few days and that keeping it fastened to her wrist had reminded her that she’d been seen, that Kieran had noticed her and cared enough to offer help.
In a world so full of disagreements and contention, she had chosen to hold on to the bright thread of kindness.
Isobel unfastened the knot and took the leather cord by the end, the rest of the bracelet falling free and dangling limply. Her wrist felt naked, and she rubbed it softly. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the damp air, cleansing her lungs. She draped the leather cord over a notch in the rock wall, surrounded by bits of fabric and shiny coins wedged into the surface.
After her offering was placed, Isobel cupped her hands beneath the fresh trickle of water and allowed them to fill before raising them to her lips and drinking the cool, clean water.
Cold ran down her throat and pooled in her stomach. She shook out her hands and wiped them on her skirts, breathing in the new life she was granting herself. Her shoulders straightened, her spine lengthening.
It was done.
Turning away from the healing well, Isobel sent a prayer up in gratitude for the opportunity she had to rid herself of her pesky infatuation. She could now enter her marriage without the unrequited feelings plaguing her for the rest of her life, and she was glad.