Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton

Chapter Thirteen

Kieran had watched Isobel walk away from their camp quietly, picking careful steps over the brush as though she wished to escape unheard. He could hardly hear her, but he had been awake, watching her from his bedroll under his makeshift tent. He hadn’t been about to interrupt her morning, not when she was heading to the healing spring.

When Isobel was out of sight, Kieran stretched his arms high above his head and sat up, yawning. His eyes felt like they’d been sprinkled with sand, a result of his mostly sleepless night. He rubbed them, but that didn’t seem to help. After kissing Isobel, he hadn’t been able to calm his heart enough to sleep. The moment played in his mind over and over again—the feel of her in his arms, the warmth of her mouth on his, the way she had pulled him toward herself.

Never had Kieran experienced a kiss like that. The problem now was that he wanted it again. But he had been honest with Isobel yesterday. He could never have a family, not when his determination for revenge could put that family in harm’s way. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

Isobel understood this; he’d seen it in her eyes. She’d kissed him knowing it would never amount to anything. But the guilt that wrapped around his stomach and squeezed like an unwelcome serpent only grew the longer he contemplated the kiss.

“Shall we lay bets on how many squirrels my traps caught last night?” Hugh asked, sitting forward on his bedroll and giving Kieran a sleepy smile.

He hadn’t noticed Hugh sit up, so lost in his own thoughts he was, and the sound startled him. He grinned, keeping his voice low. “If ye caught more than three, ye’ll get the remainder.”

Hugh laughed. “Aye, we’ll be lucky if I caught two.” He looked to Isobel’s empty tent and frowned. “She’s no’ run off again, has she?”

“Nay, she’s gone to the spring.”

“Ah,” Hugh said, nodding. He covered a yawn, facing Kieran. “What d’ye think she’s gone ta heal?”

Kieran hadn’t any idea, but curiosity burned in his chest, and he wished to know. “’Tis hard to say. She appears healthy.”

“Aye, that she does.” Hugh’s gaze remained fixed on the pathway through the trees that led to the spring. “McEwan will skin us alive if we dinna return her before the feast. Start praying that Ian’s fit for travel, or we’ll be in trouble.”

Kieran’s body stilled, Hugh’s tone far from teasing. He was aware of McEwan’s desire to have Isobel home by the feast, but he’d not been informed of why it was so important, and he hadn’t thought much of it before now. He assumed it was because McEwan wanted his best warriors present; he hadn’t realized it was Isobel who was so important.

“Why?” he asked.

Hugh looked at him then, his eyebrows pulled together. “D’ye not ken? I thought McEwan would have told ye himself.”

Kieran shook his head, discomfort snaking into his chest. Perhaps this was something he was better left ignorant of.

“He’s promised her to the new laird of Dulnain.”

“A Duncan man?” Kieran said, unable to temper his shock. “He didna tell me that.”

Hugh shook his head, his eyes unfocusing. “Me neither. I heard him tell her myself when I was stationed outside his door. I dinna think she’s pleased by it, but she agreed.”

Isobel’s claim of fealty, how she would do right by her chief, returned to him with shocking clarity. “How could he ask that of her? He knows how her parents were killed.”

“Does it matter? He has a reason. He always does.”

Kieran nodded, understanding. But that was part of the problem. There didn’t seem to be any good reason for what he asked Isobel to do. Marry the new laird of Dulnain? If he was anything like the old laird, Angus Duncan, then he wasn’t a good man. She was too kind to be paired with a brute. The very image made Kieran’s stomach sour.

He imagined a brute kissing Isobel’s soft, pink lips, and he saw red. Standing quickly, he fought off the rest of his plaid that had tangled around his feet and unsteadily found his footing. His chest heaved, and he shut his eyes, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat. It was no small wonder McEwan was so keen to have Isobel returned prior to the feast. The new laird was going to be in attendance, and that must be when the match was set to take place.

It was brilliant, really, even if it was infuriating. McEwan could use beautiful, soft-spoken Isobel to forge a union between Dulnain and Moraigh. Once the two estates were linked, the clans would be forced to get along better. But that wouldn’t solve the root of their issues, and it surely wouldn’t affect any of the McEwans or the Duncans this far from Moraigh.

It was a small bandage for a large, gaping wound.

Kieran put his mind to taking down the shelters and rolling up the beds as Hugh saddled the horses. They had camp taken down and put away and were sitting by the fire chewing on stale oatcakes when Isobel returned. She stepped through the trees and caught Kieran’s eye, then looked away quickly, her cheeks blooming a rosy hue.

The idea of Isobel standing beside a Duncan man made his skin crawl. She might have found a way to move past the injury their people made to her life, the way they stole her parents from her, but she was not perfect. She must resent the task which McEwan had set before her.

Kieran offered her an oatcake, and she took it, giving him a sweet smile before lowering herself on the log beside him. Neither Hugh nor Kieran spoke a greeting, both of them maintaining the quiet reverence Isobel brought back with her from the holy well.

After a few more minutes of silence, Isobel stood, dusting her fingers together to remove oat crumbs. “Shall we be off? I’m eager to see how Ian fares.”

Kieran nodded, unable to speak, and Hugh rose. “We best hurry and hope he and Rupert remained hidden last night.”

“They were on McEwan land,” Kieran said gruffly, climbing into the saddle. “They’ll be safe.”

He almost offered Isobel assistance up to her horse, but he didn’t feel like he should touch her right now. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to keep his hands to himself once he did.

They took off toward the lane and began trekking northward again, but every step his horse took made Kieran more uncertain that he was doing the right thing. Would it not be better to lose Isobel somewhere down here? To give her a chance to leave and make a life for herself with a man of her choosing and not a leader in the clan who killed her parents? Who killed Kieran’s father?

He froze, and his horse seemed to sense his reticence, for the beast stopped as well. Hugh didn’t notice, but Isobel did. She slowed Teine, looking at Kieran over her shoulder, her pale eyebrows drawn together and a frown on her lips.

“Is something the matter?” she asked when he brought his horse flush beside hers. They continued on, though slowly.

Kieran shook his head. “I was lost in thought.”

She looked away, finding Hugh on the lane ahead of them ignorantly drawing further away.

“Are ye certain?” She seemed unconvinced.

“Aye.” Kieran urged his horse to go faster, and Teine kept pace beside him. “Did ye have a…um…successful morning?”

A smile lit her face, making her beauty radiate. “I believe I did.”

Kieran suppressed the temptation to inquire what she needed healing from. He could ask what she’d given to the holy well in sacrifice, what token she’d left behind, and surmise what he could from that, but he shook off the notion and pressed his lips into a smile. “I’m glad for ye.”

“Are we not to make haste?” Hugh called, noticing the distance they’d fallen behind.

Isobel chuckled, sending Kieran a smile before urging Teine into a canter to catch up to Hugh. Kieran watched her go, glad to bring up the rear in their chain when his eyes sought her wrist, and he swallowed a small gasp.

Her bracelet was gone.

* * *

Isobel had never felt so free in her life. She was able to speak to Kieran, to converse openly without any of the reservations which had before stunted her. She was not afeared that she would make a fool of herself, not frightened that he would think her in love with him, for she no longer suffered from strong, unrequited feelings. No, now she merely felt like Kieran’s friend.

Bongary Spring was not the perfect remedy she’d wished for, but it was sufficient. It hadn’t made her forget the kiss as she’d hoped, but she reasoned that was because the intimacy she and Kieran had shared hadn’t been a product of love.

They pulled off the lane and wound their way through the trees, following the trail of slashed bark that Kieran had made as a way to find their way back to Ian and Rupert again. She felt them drawing closer to the camp but no longer felt anxious. Her task was completed, and she was free.

Rupert stood beside the fire, roasting a plucked bird over the open flames when they trotted into the campsite. He looked up, his eyes troubled, and a rock settled in the pit of Isobel’s stomach. She slid down from Teine and tossed the reins over a branch, holding her plaid over her shoulders to keep it from falling to the ground.

“How is Ian?” she asked, striding directly to Rupert.

“Not well.” He nodded toward Ian, laying in the same place he’d been the day before. “He woke not long after ye left, but he hasna wanted to eat much.”

“Have ye given him water?”

“I tried,” Rupert said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. He didn’t need to finish that sentence. He couldn’t force Ian to drink, not when the man didn’t want to. Isobel retrieved her canteen from her saddle bag and crossed back to Ian, vaguely aware of Kieran tying the horses to a tree and Hugh removing their saddles.

Kneeling at Ian’s side, Isobel brushed the hair from his forehead, and he began to stir. “Ye need to drink, Ian,” she said gently. “And eat something. Ye’ll need yer strength if ye want to return to Moraigh.”

“What if I dinna want to return to the castle?” His mouth twisted in a rakish smile, as though he were sharing a joke.

“Ye dinna have a choice.”

Lifting his head, Isobel brought the canteen to his lips and helped him drink, water running down his chin in cool rivulets. “Rupert is roasting some sort of fowl. The meat will do ye good. Can ye stomach an oatcake?”

He regarded her through soft, hazy eyes. “Aye.”

“Good.” Isobel stood, passing her canteen to Hugh. “Can ye fill this?”

He nodded, and she crossed to Kieran. “Do ye have any more oatcakes?”

“Ye’re hungry?” he asked, his eyes steadily holding hers.

She shook her head. “’Tis for Ian.”

Kieran pressed his lips together and dug into one of his bags. “How is he?”

“In good spirits. His arm could use a new wrapping, but I think he can ride if we give him enough sustenance.”

Kieran handed her an oatcake, and she took it with a smile. Their fingers brushed, sending a zing up her arm, but she ignored it. If only the spring had removed her physical attraction to Kieran as well. But she had to be grateful for what she had.

Isobel set to work supplying Ian with water, oatcakes, and bits of Rupert’s roasted meat. She removed his bandage, cleaned the wound again, and wrapped fresh linen around his arm. The bleeding had stopped, and Isobel was glad that he seemed less pale today than when they’d left him the day before. The rest had probably done him well.

Shaking her skirt back over her petticoat, she noticed the hem dragging on the ground and lifted it slightly. It was good they intended to return to the castle soon so she could fix her petticoat before her gown was ruined.

They let Ian rest for another few hours, and Hugh and Rupert took off to hunt some food to sustain their travels for the next day or so. They were going to have to ride fast if they wanted to make it home before the feast, which meant less time to stop and hunt on the way to the castle.

Isobel checked on Ian, found him sleeping, and returned to Teine’s side, rubbing the horse’s flank as she murmured soft thanks to the beast for serving her so well over the last week.

“Are ye eager to return to Moraigh?” Kieran asked, coming to rest on Teine’s other side. He rubbed down her back, watching Isobel closely as if her answer carried any weight.

“I’m eager to return to my own bed,” she said. Her cheeks warmed, the implications of the statement reaching her too late. “I only meant—”

He smiled. “I ken what ye meant.”

“The ground is verra hard.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Is that all ye’re eager to return to?”

“Mrs. Crabb’s cooking,” she said quickly. Not that her diet would be much changed, but it would certainly contain more fresh fruits and vegetables. “No person was meant to live on dried meat and oatcakes.”

Kieran barked a laugh, then sobered. His gaze flitted to the horse’s beautiful auburn back before he rubbed her flaxen mane. “Marion must love ye something fierce to trust ye with her horse.”

Isobel paused. Was this a test, or did Kieran know that Marion had allowed her use of Teine? She rubbed down the horse’s side, doing her best to appear nonchalant.

“We’ve grown to be more like sisters than friends.”

“It shows. Marion wouldna trust Teine to just anyone.”

She paused, lifting her gaze to his. He watched her closely, perhaps waiting to see how she would react. “What did Marion say to ye?”

He grimaced slightly. “Only that she believed ye were going to Bongary. She tried to convince me to travel through Duncan lands and cut ye off at the spring.”

Isobel’s heart squeezed. “That woulda put ye in danger.”

His eyes crinkled as a smile crept over his lips. “She was quite obviously only thinking of ye.”

A laugh bubbled up from her chest, and Isobel was unable to dampen her grin. “I’m a blessed creature for being the object of her love. She has a lot to give.”

Kieran nodded. His expression took on a haziness, as if he were no longer present, his mind far away. Isobel was silent, allowing him a moment with his thoughts. She continued to rub the horse’s side, marveling at her ability to hold a conversation with Kieran. A week ago, she would have been too frightened to speak before him, too anxious and full of nerves. The healing properties of the holy well were astounding.

Isobel lifted her hand to brush through Teine’s mane. She startled when Kieran’s fingers circled her wrist, pulling her hand toward him. She was blanketed in sudden warmth and felt as though she were drowning in hot air.

Perhaps that kiss had been a mistake after all.

“Did ye lose yer bracelet?”

Isobel’s throat grew thick, and she shook her head. “I left it at Bongary.”

“Yer offering,” he said. He didn’t seem surprised, and he didn’t release her hand. Twisting her wrist, he ran his finger lightly over the thin, pale mark left behind by the leather cord. She’d worn it so long, her skin had darkened—albeit slightly—everywhere except the small strip of skin where the bracelet had been. It was as if the ghost of her bracelet remained. Did that mean a phantom of the magic it held would stay with her as well?

Isobel’s heart pounded against her breastbone, her pulse thrumming through her body. She was grateful for the horse that stood patiently between them, keeping her from stepping closer as she wanted to do.

He traced her wrist, sending prickles over her skin, and a shudder swept through her body. Kieran’s gaze flicked up, catching hers, and a blush seeped up her neck. Had he felt her shiver? Did he know he was the reason for it?

Pulling her wrist free of his grasp, she tugged her sleeve over it and adjusted her arisaid. “Shall I wake Ian? We ought to be moving soon.”

Kieran’s lips pressed together in a firm line, his gray eyes a storm cloud beneath bunched brows. “Are ye certain ye wish ta return?”

His question caught her off guard, and Isobel put her hand on Teine’s side to steady herself. Returning hadn’t been a question for her. She’d given McEwan her word, and she intended to keep it. Shaking her head softly, she said, “I dinna have a choice, Kieran. I’ve made a promise, and I intend ta honor it.”

He nodded once, but the storm didn’t leave his troubled eyes. “Ye’re a good woman, Isobel.”

The praise filled her with pride. She didn’t know if what he said was true, but she tried her best to make it so, to be a fraction of the woman her mother had been. It was buoying for someone to notice. Isobel dipped her head, her cheeks warming, and turned away. “I’ll prepare Ian to leave.”

“Aye,” Kieran said. “And I’ll prepare the horses. We can be ready to leave the moment the men return.”

She walked away from him with uncertainty. If she’d known how enjoyable it was to simply be this man’s friend, instead of loving him to the point of anxiety and awkwardness, she would have journeyed to Bongary long ago. She was glad for the chance to get to know him better, to hold conversations and laugh.

She bent at Ian’s tent, beginning to gather his things and pack them in the saddle bag propped against the tree. When she shook his good shoulder to waken him, he blinked up at her groggily, a lopsided smile making him look more like a young lad than a strapping man.

“We need to leave soon,” she said.

He grimaced. “Och, aye. I’m ready.”

Isobel chuckled softly, helping Ian into a sitting position. “Ye aren’t ready yet, but ye soon will be. Are ye hungry?”

A flash of color caught her attention, and Isobel turned sharply toward the redcoats approaching them through the trees.

Captain Hunt had found them, and he didn’t look pleased.