Page 6 of Claimed
Her fingers were chilled already, yet his hands were warm and dry. Why was it that men always had such warm hands? Winters were a trial for Drew, for she spent months with numb fingers and toes, and chilblains that rose in red, itchy welts on her hands and feet.
“I know ye wouldn’t, Craeg,” she said softly. “But the fact remains that I’d leave sooner or later … it would only prolong the inevitable.”
“Please send word when ye reach Inishail,” Coira said, stepping up to her husband’s side. “It’s not safe for travelers these days.”
Drew tensed. She’d heard that in the wake of the sickness that had swept over Scotland, there had been a rise in lawlessness upon the mainland. Merchants had brought word that brigands patrolled many highways and preyed upon travelers.
Forcing a smile, Drew met Coira’s warm gaze. “Aye … but I should be safe enough with Broderick and yer men as my escort.” She glanced back at Craeg. “Are ye sure ye can spare them?”
“Of course I can,” he replied with a snort. “Coira’s right. Let us know ye have arrived safely at the priory.” Craeg shifted his gaze over Drew’s shoulder then, at where Carr Broderick had just led his horse out into the yard. Drew noted how the men’s gazes fused for a long moment. They had an odd relationship, Craeg and Broderick. Craeg had allowed the guard to remain on in Dunan, and was cordial with him, yet there was a reserve between the two men. The shadow of Broderick’s past allegiances hung over them.
He’s not that different to me, Drew thought, casting a glance over her shoulder to see that her guard was holding Craeg’s eye.He doesn’t belong here either.What would happen to him once he delivered her to Inishail Priory?
“Look after her, Broderick,” Craeg rumbled.
The guard nodded curtly. “With my life, MacKinnon.”
Pushing back her hood, Drew peered up at the sky, hoping to see the pale glimmer of the sun. However, the clouds had sunk low, obscuring the soaring mountains that etched the sky to the west and the south. A misty rain continued to fall, although fortunately, there was no wind this morning.
It was going to be a wet ride to Kyleakin.
Drew inhaled slowly, drawing the fresh, damp air into her lungs. It was a relief to be away from Dunan. Her vision had blurred dangerously when Craeg had pulled her into a fierce hug and then Coira had done the same.
She’d stumbled, half-blind, over to where her grey palfrey sat patiently awaiting her, and had allowed Broderick to boost her up side-saddle. It had taken all her will not to dig her heel into her mount’s flank and send it careening out of the bailey.
Emotional displays weren’t something that Drew favored. She hated the sensation of losing control.
Clattering out of Dunan’s North Gate a short while later, she’d actually scrubbed away a tear that had treacherously escaped. However, her dignity was intact, even if her chest felt as if a boulder sat upon it.
Fortunately, the farther they traveled from Dunan, the more the pressure upon her chest lightened. Drew realized that whatever the outcome, she’d made the right decision to leave. The past, and all its memories, was behind her now.
A new start lay in Argyll. She wasn’t going to pretend that adjusting to a life of prayer and solitude would be easy, but it would be a refreshing change from an existence that had been stifling her for a long while now.
Drew rode near the head of the column, just behind Carr Broderick and one other, while the remaining guards traveled behind her. They rode in companionable silence, something Drew was grateful for; not that Broderick was ever one to indulge in idle chatter.
Her gaze rested upon him now.
Like her, Broderick had pushed back his hood, letting the misty rain fall upon his head. Unlike many men, who grew their hair long, he wore his pale blond hair short. The rain had darkened it, and as she watched, he raked a hand through his hair, leaving it in spiky disarray.
The cloak highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his muscular body. How old was Broderick? Around thirty winters perhaps—five or six years younger than her. A man in his prime, a warrior, who’d given his loyalty to the wrong man and was now paying for it.
He’d been a constant overbearing presence over the past months, yet a part of her was glad he’d offered to lead her escort.
Carr Broderick made her feel safe, protected.
Strangely, few other men—besides her half-brother—had made her feel that way. In truth, she struggled to understand males at all. Most of them seemed rough-mannered and limited in understanding compared to women. Perhaps that was why she’d remained a widow after Egan’s passing.
Her husband had been over twenty-five years her elder, but that wouldn’t have mattered if she’d desired him. Even now, she suppressed a shudder when she remembered being bedded by him. Egan had been a tall, thin man with watery pale blue eyes and a weak chin. An insipid, perfunctory lover, he was the sort to climb on, do the deed, and then roll off and go to sleep.
She might have overlooked the fact he was a disappointing lover, if they’d been friends, yet Egan had little time for her. He was a ‘man’s man’, who preferred to be out hawking or in the Great Hall drinking with the other warriors.
It had been shocking, the day he’d died, choking on a trout bone, but she hadn’t grieved for him.
They’d been wed for years, although her womb had never quickened. A bairn might have given her a focus, might have made him warmer toward her. A decade of marriage, and she felt like she hardly knew him.
Drew’s mouth compressed at her husband’s memory, and she focused her attention on her palfrey’s pricked ears.
She tried not to dwell on the past much these days. But seeing Craeg and Coira so obviously happy together, so in love, had just highlighted the emptiness of her own marriage. The attraction between them crackled in the air, like the heavy sultry atmosphere before a summer squall.
