Page 9 of So Close To Heaven
Having predicted hours ago that she’d likely develop blisters from this march, Ivy was not surprised when she began to feel evidence of at least one. It started as just a warm sting blooming at the back of her heel, vague and hardly bothersome. Soon enough, however, it grew slick and raw, as if the skin itself were pulling loose with every step. She tried not to limp, not to fall behind, and not to wince or whimper with each step, but she was losing the battle on all three fronts. The steady shuffle of boots and hooves surrounded her while pride kept her upright—pride, and a small fear that if she stopped, they might simply keep walking right by her, continuing without her.
“Ye’re droopin’ like a frost-bitten fern,” came a voice just behind her, a low, amused observation spoken in a Highlander’s distinctive lilt.
Ivy managed a weak laugh as she turned. Kendrick, the redhead, rode up beside her, his lanky frame astride a compact, shaggy-coated dun horse. His face, angular and long, was slightly sunburned, and a coppery stubble that she hadn’tnoticed earlier or that hadn’t been there hours ago dusted his jaw.
She opened her mouth to protest, to stubbornly say she was fine, but then he leaned sideways and extended a hand.
“Come, then,” he said. “'Tis a guid beast, and ye’ll do nae harm ridin’ pillion. Should’ve kent to offer sooner, but I dinna ken the...”
He let that trail off and she wondered if he’d been about to say he didn’t thinkthe lairdwould have approved.
Pride fell by the wayside. She was utterly exhausted, depleted. She took Kendrick’s hand and let him half-lift her, grateful beyond words. She swung a leg over and settled behind him. The moment she sat, even with the hard jostle of the saddle, a wave of relief rolled through her. She could have wept from sheer gratitude.
“God bless you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his lean middle, her belly allowing her to keep some distance between them.
“Aye.”
The wiry one trotted his gelding up alongside, and the kid with the kind eyes followed close behind. They moved now as a tight knot within the center of the long column, and for the first time all day, Ivy didn’t feel utterly alone.
“I know this is Kendrick,” she said to the other two, “but I don’t know your names.”
“Ewan, I am,” the wiry one introduced himself.
“Blair,” said the youth with the kind eyes.
“Aye, but his wife calls himThe Clod I Married,” Kendrick teased, grinning.
Blisters and fatigue momentarily forgotten, Ivy blinked hard. “Wife?” she echoed with a disbelieving snort of laughter. “How old are you?” Her gaze snapped to Blair—lanky, all elbows andknees, and still carrying the awkward grace of a teenage boy trying to grow into a man’s frame.
“Ten and eight,” Blair answered, bristling slightly, his jaw tightening.
“And two bairns he has as well,” Kendrick added.
“Bairns? Kids?” Ivy repeated, her voice climbing with incredulity. “You havekids?”
Blair gave a quick, uncomfortable nod.
Kendrick, in front of her, chuckled. “Aye, we’re nae sure how he managed that.”
Ewan chimed in from the side, “Ye mean to say, how Marion suffered through it.”
Blair flushed crimson, clearly wishing the subject would change, and tried to shift the spotlight. “Kendrick’s got hisself a wife and a wee bairn, too.”
“What?” Ivy gaped at Kendrick’s back. “Are you serious?”
“Aye,” Kendrick said, shrugging, as if he were not a child-groom. “Married last spring.”
Ivy stared at them, struck dumb.
These boys—because that’s how she saw them—were married, with children? Her mind reeled. Again, she wondered if they were part of some remote, undiscovered Highland tribe. A community so deep in the wilds they’d somehow missed the last few centuries of progress.
“How old are you, Kendrick?” She had to ask.
“Ten and eight,” Kendrick replied.
She turned her stunned face to Ewan, who shrugged sheepishly. “Ten and seven, lass.”
“Are you married, too?”
