Alec: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 4) Page 11

  Fear pulsed through her, but then another birthing pain came on and she cried out. Alec knelt and took her hand and wrapped his arm around her, supporting her back.

  “Breathe,” he said, his voice calm and low. The woman gripped his hand. He could feel her body lean into his trustingly. Just then the boy thundered through the trees, a stricken look on his face, with Joanie following just behind him, breathless from running. A moment of confusion flashed across her face, then her eyes widened with recognition. Immediately, she pulled out the ale from her satchel and squatted next to the woman, helping her sip the amber liquid. Then she turned to the boy. “Fetch some water.”

  Eyes wide, he ran off.

  The woman closed her eyes, quiet for a moment, so Alec laid her back on the ground and started to clear away a more comfortable place for her to lie.

  “But the boy said she was ill,” Joanie whispered as she pulled out one of Alec’s tunics from his satchel to swaddle the baby in when it arrived.

  “He believes she is. He must not realize that she is having a baby or that pain is a natural part of childbirth.”

  “I have never assisted a birth, but I am a skilled healer.”

  “Are ye?” he asked, looking at her curiously.

  She met his gaze. “Didn’t you know that already?”

  He shook his head. “There is little I know of ye.”

  “How can that be?” she asked. “I’m confused.”

  He reached for her hand and held it, closing his eyes. Still, he saw nothing. “So am I.”

  Joanie chewed her lip. “I do not have my herbs. There is little I can do, if something goes wrong.”

  Alec looked at her. “The baby’s heart is strong. Both mother and babe will be fine.”

  An hour later, just as Alec promised, the woman pushed a healthy baby girl into Joanie’s awaiting arms. Her son cheered next to her. He had been very relieved when he returned with the water to know that his mother wasn’t dying, but that she was having a baby.

  Joanie smiled down at the new life in her arms. Then she swaddled her and presented her to her mother. “You have a beautiful baby girl,” Joanie said.

  She reached for her baby. Tears streaming down her face, she kissed the new infant all over. Then she looked at Alec and Joanie. “Bless you both.”

  The woman told them her name was Alma and her son was Edgar, named after his father, who’d been flogged to death last winter for starting an uprising against his lord. They were serfs, and Alma had been locked in the stocks for a month. After they released her, she and Edgar had waited until nightfall and ran into the woods. They’d been running ever since.

  Joanie set to work washing Alma while Alec laid out some supper of dried meat and bannock.

  “Where will you stay the night?” he asked.

  “Right here,” Alma said. “We are safest in the wood.”

  “But you cannot light a fire to stay warm or else you risk discovery. Let me get you a room at the inn.”

  Alma frowned and held her baby tighter. “No. It is too dangerous. You know what will happen if we are caught.”

  Alec nodded grimly. He placed the last of the food next to her. Then he took his large, warm cloak and spread it out, covering all three.

  “If you are able to walk on the morrow, go to the village of Kitwick. It is not three miles east of here.”

  Alma nodded. “I know the place.”

  “Go to the Raven’s Wing tavern and ask for Henry. Tell him St. Paul sent you. He will help you.”

  Alma reached for Alec’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Bless you,” she said. “Bless your heart.”

  Alec dipped his head to Alma and laid his hand on the baby’s head. Then he turned to Edgar. “Take care of them, always,” he said. Then he stood and outstretched his arm to Joanie.

  “Now, I understand,” Joanie said as she followed Alec from the woods. “You are a seer. My grandmother told me about people like you. She even claimed to be touched by the Sight herself, although it was her sister who was meant to be truly gifted.”

  “The sight runs in yer bloodline?” he asked, looking at her curiously, wondering if that could help explain why the stone around his neck remained warm in her presence.

  “I suppose it does,” Joanie said. Then she canted her head to one side as she studied him. “So, who is Saint Paul?”

  Alec raised his brow at her. “Ye caught that, did ye? Well, my brothers and I were first asked to join the cause by the Bishop Lamberton. He called us the Saints and gave us masks and swords. At his command, we robbed English nobles on the road north into Scotland. But during a heist we couldn’t use our Christian names. And so the bishop gave us saints’ names. I was Saint Paul. My eldest brother, Jack, was Saint Peter. Quinn, also older than me, was Saint Augustine. Then Rory—”

  “Do you mean to say you have more brothers?”

  “Two more, and a sister.”

  She smiled. “I always wished for brothers and sisters. Diana became a sister to me—” her voice broke.

  He stopped and turned to face her. “I’m so sorry, Joanie.”

  She looked up at him. His eyes did not hold the compassion of his voice, but then she realized, they were near the village — he kept them both shielded with his unapproachable facade.

  “I, too, know what it is to lose a sister,” he said softly. “I used to have two sisters. Rosalyn, the youngest of us all, perished along with my parents when the English invaded Berwick seven years ago. His army destroyed the city, claiming the lives of thousands of Scotsmen and their families, women and children alike.”

  Joanie gasped, struck by the horror of it all. Now, it was clear to her why he had become a secret Scottish rebel. They continued toward the village in silence, but then Joanie gave Alec a sidelong glance, a question burning in her mind could not wait. “What did you do with the English noble’s money?”

  He kept his eyes trained forward. “It wasn’t their money. It was Scotland’s. We were just taking it back. Every coin and bauble went to the cause, rebuilding Scotland’s army and feeding those who suffered the wrath of Edward’s ambition.”

  She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Mysterious and seemingly dangerous English Merchant, Randolph Tweed, was, in fact, a Scottish hero.

  “It is too late to gather supplies. We will stay the night in the village and set out in the morning.”

  Joanie turned toward the sun, which dipped low against the horizon, painting the thatch and stone cottages in hues of rose and amber. “Where will we sleep?”

  “At the inn.”

  She tripped on her own feet in her surprise. “Together?”

  He caught her arm, keeping her from falling. She heard the amusement in his voice. “Aye, lass,” he said. “Together.”

  Chapter Twenty

  He held her hand and walked just slightly in front of her, having felt her heart begin to quicken the moment they entered the center of the village. At that late hour, the streets were not nearly as busy as they had been when the sun still shone overhead; however, some people still milled about, eying Joanie and Alec with suspicion, making her increasingly nervous. He too would have preferred a wooded camp or farm over a bustling village, but only to escape the constant barrage of human emotion that assailed his senses whenever anyone stood near. Clearly, Joanie had the same preference for isolation, but his heart ached, knowing it was her fear of being hurt. Life had taught her that men were cruel and that those more powerful crushed the weaker. She hid for survival. Pulling her closer behind him, he shielded her, wishing he could block out the world around them. But once they had what they needed for the journey north, they could avoid cities and villages until they made it to Haddington Abbey.

  “A room for myself and my wife,” he told the proprietor of the only inn in the village.

  The man scowled at Alec for several moments, his hands resting on his rotund stomach, before he finally outstretched his hand for payment. Alec could feel his instant aversion, bu
t he was unmoved. He was used to people’s suspicion. He knew he made himself disagreeable, but what people didn’t realize was that Alec was simply keeping them out of his mind. He was careful to avoid touching the man when he dropped the coins into his palm. Judging by his open disdain of Alec, the surly way he eyed Joanie, and the fear in the hearts of the people who worked for him, Alec had no wish to see inside his dark soul. Once the mind had seen something, it could not be unseen, and so many dark images already filled Alec’s mind.

  “Betty, show them upstairs,” the man barked at a young maid carrying a bucket. She jumped a little at the harsh command, causing water to slosh on the floor.

  “And watch what you’re doing, you lazy cow!”

  Fear and fury shot out from Joanie’s heart straight into Alec’s. He snaked his hand out and grabbed the innkeeper’s tunic, pulling him hard against his high table. The moment he touched him, Alec knew he was a thief. Grim images flashed before his eyes, but one came to the fore. The innkeeper finished most evenings at the corner table near the hearth with some shop owners in the village.

  Alec leaned close and in a low voice for the innkeeper’s ears only, he said, “Be kinder to those around you, or I will tell those who trust you what really happened to their money.”

  The innkeeper froze, ceasing his struggles. “How did you ...which one of those bastards…” The innkeeper’s eyes nigh bulged from his face as he sputtered. A breath later, a nervous smile stretched his lips wide. Casting his gaze sidelong at the maid, he said, “No worries, Betty dear. I will just have Robert clean—”

  Alec tightened his grip.

  “I … what I meant to say is that I will clean that up. You just go ahead and take our guests up to their room.”

  “I have many friends in town,” Alec whispered. “I will know if you mistreat anyone again.”

  Joanie suppressed a smile as she watched Alec slowly release the innkeeper’s tunic, but inside she was nigh bursting with pride. She knew naught what he had said to make the man suddenly so obliging, but she was overjoyed to have witnessed him being put in his place. And by the way Betty smiled at Alec, Joanie knew he was not just Scotland’s hero anymore.

  She followed Betty across the busy common room to the stairs. When they reached the top and started down a long hallway, Betty suddenly whirled around, her face beaming, the blond curls that framed her face danced as she dipped into a low curtsy.

  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes darting between Joanie and Alec. “I don’t know what you said, but I’ve never seen the master so flustered. He squirmed like the snake he is.”

  Joanie smiled and glanced at Alec who dipped his head to acknowledge the young maid’s praise, but kept silent.

  Betty did not seem to mind, however, as she turned and prattled on about telling her mother when she left for the evening. “Supper is served in an hour downstairs,” she said, opening the door to their room.

  “Would you mind bringing us a tray when time allows?” Alec asked.

  She bobbed in a curtsy, her smile still beaming. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Alec simply nodded and motioned for Joanie to enter.

  “Goodnight,” she said to Betty.

  A moment later, Alec shut the door behind him and leaned against the slatted wood for a moment. She watched him close his eyes and take several steadying breaths.

  “Is it quiet now … inside of you, I mean?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, I feel them everywhere, but ‘tis as if it’s muffled now. Like a dream or even a ghostly presence.”

  “Like you’re haunted.”

  Alec locked eyes with her. “Exactly.”

  Joanie felt her heart pound as she met Alec’s gaze. His black eyes were always intense — either cold and hard like an iron wall, almost hurtful in how they blocked out life, or they were probing, searching as if he were deep inside her.

  At that moment, she was acutely aware of him, not just his intensity, but she was aware of him as a man. He stood straight and walked toward her. He seemed to fill the room with his height and powerful presence. She did not feel unsafe. On the contrary, she believed him when he said he would never hurt her. Still, she was painfully nervous. She didn’t know what to do or say.

  When he stopped in front of her, she craned back her neck to meet his gaze. “We’re alone,” she suddenly blurted.

  Embarrassed, she turned away and started to wander the room, touching the faded blue covering on the platform bed and grazing her fingertips across the table that was positioned in front of the shuttered window. From the corner of her eye, she watched him cross the room to the cold hearth. He moved with quiet ease. He was such a tempting combination of effortless elegance and confident ability. He squatted down and began to light a fire. She could not help but admire the way his back tapered to his narrow waist and the strong lines of his thigh and curve of his buttock.

  “Oh God,” she said under her breath before she turned away.

  Diana had often spoken of men with admiration for their bodies. She would occasionally reminisce about past lovers and tease Joanie for turning a bright shade of crimson whenever she did. Joanie never truly believed her when she said that some men could be gentle with a woman and make a woman’s body soar with pleasure. But now, having witnessed Alec’s quiet confidence, his powerful strength, and his undeniable kindness, she could not help but wonder if there was any truth to Diana’s stories.

  “Ye’re not afraid of me anymore,” he said quietly.

  She jumped, startled by his voice. She turned around. He stood now, tall and lean, with his back still to her.

  Did he know the true direction of her thoughts? Panicked, she searched the room for some way to hide from him. But he turned then and looked at her. “Now what are ye afraid of?”

  She froze mid-step — to where she did not know. There was no escaping him, and even if she could, she knew escape was not what she really wanted.

  “You again,” she said. Then she looked down at her feet. “And my own thoughts,” she said truthfully.

  He did not answer, and so she forced herself to once more meet his gaze. The hardness had once more fled his face, but his gaze was no less probing, no less intense.

  “Sit with me.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her, and then she crossed her arms over her chest. “You mean, you want me to come over there?” she asked, wishing to keep a room between them.

  She felt this pit of longing in her stomach, like hunger but for something she had never imagined before. It was as if her very soul was starved, but then memories of the abuse and hatred that had been her life’s story flashed before her eyes — what was she thinking? Her soul had never been fed before.

  “Don’t be sad,” he whispered, suddenly standing in front of her. She looked up and lost herself in his eyes. They were soft with concern. “So sad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out his hand. He hesitated, his fingers nearly grazing her cheek. But then he touched her, so softly at first. She closed her eyes as the now familiar warmth shot through her. She felt the pulsing life that filled his soul touch her very heart, her own soul. He stepped even closer. She was surrounded by the heat of him, the feel of him, the scent of him, and everything within her wanted more. He cupped her cheeks between his hands and brought his forehead to hers.

  “Ye’re magic,” he whispered.

  A burst of laughter rushed from her lips. She stared up at him with incredulity but then succumbed to the lulling motion of his touch. She closed her eyes to savor the feeling before saying, “Of the two of us, I’m sure you are the one with magic.”

  He stepped away suddenly. She opened her eyes, shocked by the swift retraction of his touch. “Ye don’t understand,” he said, his arms stiff at his sides, his hands tightly fisted. “I do not touch people,” he said, his black eyes boiling with emotion. “At least not willingly.”

  He flexed his fingers and looked down at his hands. “When I touch someone, I ste
p inside them. I see their sins, their fears, their pain. I see the faces of people they have loved, or hurt, or lost.”

  He raked both his hands through his long hair. The moment before he spun away from her, she saw such an ache of suffering in his eyes, it brought tears to her own. She stared now at his back, knowing he fought to regain the control he worked so hard to constantly maintain. When he turned back around, his impassive mask shaped the contours of his face. Her beautiful statue stood in front of her, but now she did not fear him. Now she understood.

  Slowly, the hardness left his eyes, and he again stepped toward her. She held her breath as he drew closer still. Then he reached out his hand, and just his fingertips grazed hers. His touch ignited her soul, compelling her to weave her fingers together with his.

  “When I touch ye,” he breathed, “I see nothing but ye. I am just a man. Ye’re just a woman.” A shiver shot from his body into hers, and she could not help but think that he was far from just a man. She looked up and met his gaze.

  He swallowed hard. “I cannot tell ye how good it feels,” he said, his voice low. He drew her cloak away and reached for the last few pins sloppily containing her hair. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  She bent her head, unable to bear his kindness, his gentleness. Tears stung her eyes. Longing filled her with his every breath caressing her cheek. Warm and so close, it hurt as much as it pleased.

  “Still so sad,” he said, crooking her chin and gently lifting her head so that he could see her face. “I cannot see yer truth. Ye must tell me.”

  She swallowed the knot in her throat. “What do you want to know?”