Page 47 of Beyond Dreams

“So...were you...was the marriage forced on you, too?”

“It was nae forced. ’Twas my duty to make it happen, see it through. Peace is worth so much more than whatever my personal desires are.”

“But duty isn’t always easy,” she remarked. From his words she was left to imagine that marriage was not on his list of personal desires. “Or pleasant, I guess.”

“Is that how you perceived your duty? Unpleasant?”

“No. First, I wasn’t given much choice in the matter. And as I’ve said, I believed marriage was...well, was my way out.” She didn’t want him digging deeper into this and so redirected their conversation. “Is duty just ingrained in you, Duncan? That you stand and face five men up to no good, with only your sword and a faith in yourself? I mean, didn’t you worry you might be killed?”

“As a general practice, I dinna worry,” he said. “Truth is, I’m so accustomed to war and fighting, that one more fight, a wee scrum with inept infidels dinna cause me any concern.”

“But what about the actual killing? You’ve just taken a life, doesn’t that bother you? Or weigh heavily on you?”

The very idea was, according to his puzzled expression, incomprehensible. “If I dinna kill them, they’d have slain me and mayhap you. Sure andthatwould have disturbed me.”

So black and white. She supposed there was something to be said for that, to live by such a simplistic philosophy, kill or be killed. Harsh, but possibly necessary in this time period.

No sooner had she sighed and settled against him than a scratching and scurrying noise alerted her.

Holly jerked upright against Duncan and called out, “Help! We’re here. Help!”

“’Tis nae a horse, lass,” Duncan said, squeezing his arm around her shoulder. “Mayhap a fox or the pine marten.”

“Or it could be Graeme or someone else, looking for us,” she argued—sensibly, she thought.

“Aye, if they’re coming on all fours.”

She retained a bit of desperation to be found, to not be stuck out here all night long, still having some concern over Duncan’s injuries. Every ten minutes or so, she called out into the darkness, shouting “Help!” or calling Graeme’s name.

After she’d done this for the fourth time, Duncan said, “Lass, they’ll find us.”

She would swear to God she could sense him rolling his eyes.

“But what if they don’t? What if they’re close but not close enough to see us, but might find us if they hear me?”

“We might be able to hearthem,” was Duncan’s rebuttal, “if they come close, ifyoustop with the screeching.”

“Fine. Then I’m going to sleep,” she said, having struggled to keep her eyes open for the last quarter hour or more anyway. She snuggled into the crook of Duncan’s shoulder, concentrating on the warmth of his body and not the feel of the dead man’s shirt.

***

He wasn’t sure howshe smelled so fresh and clean still after the long day they’d had but he certainly didn’t mind it. Mayhap the rain, wetting her hair, had released the fragrance. It was a far cry better than any other scent detected out here, most of that being blood and death, the blood being his and whatever covered the tunic he wore, while the stench of death fought for supremacy with the wildflowers.

He turned his face again, his chin brushing against the top of her head, and inhaled deeply of her sweet fragrance. She’d been sleeping now for almost an hour without moving and while he was pleased for this, he almost wished she’d wake here and there to help keep him awake. Sleep was not an option for him. He wasn’t sure if any scavengers would be drawn out at night and by the scent of blood, but he’d earlier heard the distant howl of a few wolves and wouldn’t be surprised if a pack made their way to this location. He kept his sword close, the hilt laid just above his knee. Sadly, if it came to it, he’d be forced to wield his sword with his left hand, something he rarely did.

Duncan had no sure idea about time but might have guessed it well past midnight when he heard what he was sure was someone picking their way through the glen on a horse. If not one of his men, it might only be one of the red deer, mayhap a larger stag, which often roamed the valleys at night.

The barest hint of metal jangling, motion of a harness or stirrup, advised it was a horse and rider.

But was it one of his men, from Thallane?

From his vantage point, he could make out only a shadowy figure, seen and then not around the trees between him and the dead bodies. He inhaled and gave his best imitation of an owl.

A second later, he heard his cousin’s voice.

“Dunc?”

“Here.”

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