Ian scratched Thor’s warm neck, inhaling the air.
Since he’d arrived in Baghdad, he’d had the goal of coming home. Once he’d returned, he’d had to bury his father.
Now, for the first time since he’d been sold as a slave, he had no purpose. He could take Thor and ride anywhere he wanted.
Freedom.
He mounted the horse and let him walk out of the yard slowly. He savored every breath, every movement of the animal, the feel of his own body, still aching from the excess of uisge, but free nevertheless.
As soon as they were out in the fields of oats and barley, he spurred Thor, and they flew like a wind.
They passed the village of Benlochy, past the small church. In its backyard, Father had been buried yesterday with the customary wooden plate with earth and salt on it. Earth as the sign that the body would be returned to the earth where it had come from, and salt as the symbol of the eternal soul.
They galloped for a while—Ian didn’t know how long. But with the effort of the exercise, the trees and ground and sky flashing before his eyes, he was able to forget, his mind going pleasantly empty, full of sunshine and wind and the rush of speed.
The only thing Ian wasn’t able to forget, was Kate. But she didn’t bother him. On the contrary, thinking of her brought something soothing and calming to his soul. Like a balm on a ragged wound.
By the time Thor needed a break, Ian had decided he’d apologize the moment he got back. He had been unfair, and she should know that.
He dismounted and led Thor to the loch to let him drink and graze on the grass nearby. The water looked so good, and suddenly Ian wanted nothing more than to plunge into it. Following the impulse, he undressed and walked in. Chill grasped his feet and ankles, the wind refreshing against his bare chest.
Ah, it would be freezing. Better not to wait. On with it.
He advanced even though the cold took his breath away and hurt his skin. He submerged himself completely and felt as if the loch embraced him like a babe against his mother’s bosom. He let the waters of his motherland wash away the horrors of slavery and dissolve the painful memories of every life he’d taken.
He stayed underwater until his chest felt like it would burst, then swam up and gasped in the sweet air. Lightness he hadn’t felt in a long while filled his body, and he wanted to laugh from the pleasure of it.
Voices from the shore made him still, then narrow his eyes. Englishmen, judging by their heavy metal armor. There were three of them. One dismounted, walked up to Thor and looked him over, checking his teeth. He lifted the animal’s foot and looked at his hoof, then nodded with approval.
How dare he look at Ian’s horse as though he was judging its quality? Something dark, ugly, and slippery turned deep in Ian’s gut. Something he’d thought he’d left in the loch. He walked towards the shore, his hands itching for a weapon.
All three of them stopped talking and stared as he approached.
“Hey, you!” one of them cried. “Who are you?”
Ian didn’t stop until he reached the rocky shore.
“I am the owner of that horse. And I will thank ye to get yer hands off him.”
“A Scot,” one man said quietly to another.
Ian raised his chin.
They looked him over and laughed. “It’s a big demand coming from someone standing naked and dripping water.”
“I dinna want trouble, man,” Ian said. “Just let my horse go and be on yer way.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ian Cambel.”
“Dundail?”
“Aye.”
They exchanged amused glances. “Well, Ian Cambel of Dundail, since your estate is the next one King Edward’s coming for, we’ll spread the burden and relieve you of your horse now.”
He could launch himself at them. He could take the dagger from the belt of the man standing by Thor. It would only take a moment to pierce the Englishman under his chin, then slice the second man’s neck before he knew what hit him, hop onto Thor and gallop away.
He clenched his jaw so tightly, he thought he’d crush his teeth. Everything darkened and sharpened at the same time.
No.
He’d promised himself.
No life will be taken by my hands again.
The English chuckled. The man on the ground tied Thor’s reins to his horse’s saddle and climbed up.
“That’s right, Scot, not a word. And be thankful I’m not taking your balls together with your horse. They aren’t worth much anyway.”
He spat and they continued on their way, slowly, as though they were already victors.
Ian shook. From cold, from helpless fury, and from the images of dozens of bodies lying in pools of blood on the Baghdad palace’s dusty courtyard.
The peacefulness of being in the loch was gone, as though blown away by the wind. His chest tightened, and his stomach churned.
He refused to fight again. He refused to take another life.
But what would he do once the English showed up in Dundail? Could he stand by and let them harm the villagers who relied on him? And what of Kate? What would they do to the sweet lass who couldn’t even remember where she came from but still managed to somehow warm his cold stone of a heart?
That thought chilled him more than the cold loch waters. He pulled on his clothes, then turned and ran towards home.
Chapter 14
Kate stared at the sloped ceiling of the garret. Although she hadn’t remembered anything new the whole day, after Ian had left, something had lurked at the back of her mind. Like a shadow she’d seen a thousand times but couldn’t recognize.
She held on to the vision of the kitchen, turning it in her mind over and over. She looked for more details of the furniture,
