Ian swallowed hard, the hazy, pained gaze returning. “My father just passed, Ahearn. I was looking for Kenneth to make arrangements, borrow a cart for his body. I want to leave on the morrow and take him with me.”
The man clasped his hands together. “I am so sorry to hear yer father passed, lord. But the lass?”
Ian didn’t break eye contact with her, and that sad yet warm gaze gave her hope. Gave her strength. Told her she wasn’t alone.
“Ye said Crazy Mary might be yer family. Come with me to find out. I’d verra much like to hire ye as a cook. Clearly, ye’re good at it—the bread that ye made was delicious, and the lamb roast was the thing ye remembered. Crazy Mary may be yer family or ken something about ye. And I need someone else to help in the kitchen. Will ye come?”
Ahearn shook his head. “Lord, please, this isna wise—”
“Will ye?” Ian interrupted him, still looking at Kate.
A smile spread on her face, her vision blurry from tears of gratitude. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Are ye strong enough to travel?” he asked.
“I think so,” she said. “And thank you, Ian.”
Being treated kindly was something she had never been used to. She had no idea how she knew that, but this felt strange. It felt unfamiliar. It felt like a rare, precious gift.
“Thank you,” she whispered again.
Ian nodded and pursed his lips, perhaps his way of returning her smile. He turned to Ahearn. “Is Kenneth in the tower?”
“Aye. He was talking to the marshal.”
“All right. I’ll go find him and ask about the cart. Lass, dinna go anywhere without me. We’re leaving today.”
As he walked away, Kate couldn’t help but admire his tall, muscular frame and confident stride. She wondered if he was married and hurried to his wife back home, or if he was in love with someone. Was she married? She had no idea.
But looking at Ian, something in her hoped she wasn’t, and that he wasn’t, either…
Chapter 6
Ian took a deep breath, filling his lungs with pure Highland air. Would it be able to finally clear his head of nightmares? The cart shook and wobbled on the road between the mountains of Glen Coe to his left and right. A waterfall streamed down the mountain slope nearby, its rushing cascade like sweet music. The sense of peace he’d been longing for during his years in Baghdad was almost within his grasp. Once he saw the calm waters of Loch Awe at Dundail again, he hoped that peace would finally come.
But would it really?
“It’s so beautiful here,” Kate said. “How long till Dundail?”
He looked at her bonnie profile. She sat by his side in the cart. The bruise at the top of her forehead had purpled. “Two or three days, I think,” Ian said. “We might need to sleep in the woods but there’s one village in between, I will try to get us lodging there.”
“Okay,” she said.
He chuckled. He’d started to get used to the strange way she spoke. In the caliphate, he’d heard countless accents and foreign speech from other slaves, so that wasn’t new. But he’d never heard anyone who sounded like her.
“Did ye remember anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nope. I’ve looked through my things, but they only confuse me and make my head hurt.”
“Aye. Ye dinna have much with ye.”
“I’ve banged my head for the last three days trying to figure out who I am and what I’m doing here. I hope Crazy Mary has the answer, or some clue.”
“Aye.”
“Thank you again, for helping me. I feel like you’re the only friend I have.”
Friend…
The sounds of the thundering rocks and screams, the images of torn flesh, of blood saturating dry dirt, of Abaeze’s dying eyes… Abaeze was the last person who’d called him friend. Abaeze, who had saved Ian’s life and then died in his arms.
“I’m nae yer friend, lass,” he murmured, his voice a rasping whisper.
He looked straight ahead, at the black horse, at the reins in his hands, at the rocky, rubbly road. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tense and stiffen.
He didn’t care. He shouldn’t care if he hurt her feelings. He couldn’t have another friend. Abaeze had known what it was like—he’d also killed to live.
Here, no one would understand. If Kate found out what he had done to survive… He couldn’t stand the look of revulsion on her face, especially after she’d just called him friend.
And if others ever learned the truth, he’d be condemned as a monster—rightfully so. And he’d be fooling himself if he thought he’d have a normal life here. He’d see his clan for the yearly gatherings. He’d help them if they needed him. But other than that…
His way forward was the way of loneliness.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to overstep… I don’t want to be a burden, though. I’ll work very hard in your kitchen.”
He nodded without turning his head to her. Her voice rang with hurt, but it was better to keep his distance from her and not give her any hopes. He felt for her, and he’d do everything he could to help her find out who she was and where she belonged. But that was it.
The rest of the day passed in silence. They slept in the woods and resumed their journey the next day.
As the set out, the road was a little rainy but otherwise easy.
Ian was glad they would arrive at the village of Rossely by the evening. The lass was still weak, and it would do her good to sleep in a warm bed at an inn, and not outside on the cold ground.
It was in the afternoon that he sensed something was wrong. Mayhap it was his warrior’s instinct, or mayhap he’d caught the slightest movement—either way, he’d learned to heed the sensation during years of fighting.
He stopped the horse and listened. Wind rustled the leaves. Birds chirped.
And then there was a movement farther
