Cadha's Rogue (The Highland Renegades Book 5) (17 page)

Erlan put his hands on either side of Valc’s face. “Don’t move. You’re losing too much blood.”

“We should cast off,” Auden said. “Return to St. Claire as soon as we are able. After the Earl’s warning, they will not follow us.”

“Yes.” Erlan spoke to the Highlanders again and Valc felt himself being turned. Something soft slid under his back.

“We’re trying to stop the bleeding,” Auden explained. But the monk’s features were crumpled and dark, and Valc knew that look.

“You can’t stop it, can you?”

Both Erlan and Auden paused at the words and Valc felt another lance of pain as they forced something else underneath him. Another cloth?

Valc closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything but the pain. He saw Cadha’s face, and the open sea, and the brightly-lit deck of his ship. Everything was white and hazy and he remembered how Greta had described seeing her son in her last moments. So bright, so inviting.

His heart thudded against his chest and it felt like his breath would stop at any moment. But when it caught and began to beat again, Valc swallowed against the fear that took him.

This was his end.

“You can’t stop it, can you?” he repeated.

Valc could barely make out Auden’s face. There was no hope in the monk’s eyes, and Valc’s mind raced. He had so much to say, still.

He felt for his sword and dragged it from his side, thrusting it into the monk’s hands. “Take this,” he said. “I want Erlan to give it to Cadha.”

Erlan stuttered. “Don’t… Valc. We won’t let you die.”

Valc laughed, and the pain engulfed him. “That choice isn’t yours to make, my friend.”

“What about the box?” Auden’s earnest tone told Valc all he needed to know. He was, indeed, beyond saving.

Erlan picked at the latch on Greta’s box and flipped it open. The stench of the sepulcher filled their noses and he pushed it closed again.

Valc squeezed Auden’s hand and met his eyes. “Please see that box to its final resting place in Canterbury.”

A solitary tear slid down Auden’s cheek. “I will, brother.”

“Tell Cadha…” Valc’s gaze rested on each face that watched him. There was one face he’d longed to see again, and he closed his eyes to picture her one last time. At least he had told her goodbye.

Chapter Eighteen

Maas’s voice woke Cadha, soft and pliant. Dark had ascended long before, and from what she could see when she looked around, there was a sliver of daybreak peeping across the sea. She had slept most of the night not far from what could have been a plunge to her death.

It didn’t thrill her like she expected. But the touch of her betrothed was as welcome as warmth. She stole her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Maas,” she whispered. “I waited for so long.”

He gathered her into his arms and held her against him, standing away from the cold rock. “I saw something near the cliffs and when Lilian said you hadn’t been seen since dinner, I thought you might be here.”

“You know I can’t be cooped up inside a house when I’m waiting for someone to come home.”

“I know.” He set her on the ground and touched her nose with one of his knuckles. “Your father used to say you’d have wood-grain permanently embedded in the contours of your face from sleeping on the docks to wait for him.

She circled around. “Where is everyone?”

“In the castle.” He pulled her along beside him as he went for his horse. “I wanted to find you first. We only just returned.”

She shivered against the cold wind and he put his arm around her.

“You’re freezing, woman.” Maas drew her into his side and cradled her between himself and his horse. Cadha giggled and nuzzled into him.

“Woman,” she repeated. “No one has ever called me that before.”

Maas turned her to face him and put his hands on either side of her face. “That is what you are, Cadha. You are a woman, now.”

“I am, aren’t I?” She laughed again and shook her head against his hands. “Although Mama will never see me as such.”

“That is why I never told your parents of our betrothal. They still see you as a girl.” His eyes drew down in sad withdrawal. “But this journey has made you a woman, grown.”

Cadha’s breath felt pinched as she inhaled. She needed to tell Maas of her decision. But was now the best time, when they had just returned?

“Tell me how the trip went,” she said instead.

“We docked in Balfour.” He did not meet her gaze, although she searched it out. “There were many ships in the bay, and some of the pirate’s men guarded them.”

“And there was a battle?”

Maas nodded. His eyes shuttered and he reached for his saddle bag. No, not the bag. Around the other side of the bag, in front, where the sheath was tied. He pulled out a sword.

“He asked me to give you his things. Especially this.” Maas couldn’t meet her eyes. Even in the low light, she could see the fear in his eyes.

Cadha reached for the weapon, but didn’t touch it. Valc’s sword.

“Why would he…?” she began.

Maas thrust the hilt into her hand and knelt in front of her. “I’m so sorry, Cadha.”

With his hands gripping hers, around the hilt of Valc’s sword, Maas began to shake with sobs. She backed up, releasing her fingers and dropping the weight of the weapon.

“No.” She swallowed. “No.”

Maas nodded once more. “I am so sorry, my love.”

“But… no. I knew he wasn’t coming back, but… no. He can’t be… dead.” A sticky, itchy threat of tears climbed up the back of her throat and burned everything on its way. Cadha sniffed at them. “No, he just told you to say that so I wouldn’t try to come after him.”

Mass lowered his head. “I wish that were the case.” He raised the sword again and presented it. “He asked us to give this to you.”

“But… Balfour promised. H-he pro… No. Valc can’t be dead. He can’t.” Cadha’s cheeks were soaked and she collapsed to the springy earth. Maas hovered over her, covering her with his body, cooing at her, trying to comfort her. But Cadha felt like her whole world had melted into nothing. It was gone.

She pushed at Maas, pounded on his chest, screamed. This couldn’t be happening. Valc couldn’t be dead. The anger roused her with its force and she beat Maas’s chest as she stood. Valc’s sword clattered to the ground between them and lay in the dark, reflecting what little light budded on the horizon.

“You’re lying. He’s gone back to Holland so I won’t follow him. He wants me to stay here with you.”

“Oh, Cadha,” Maas whispered into her hair. He held her tight as she cried, and let her pound at him. “I know you loved him, and he loved you. His last words were for you.”

Why would Valc send his sword if he was alive? Why would he pretend to be dead if he planned to let her make her own choice? She sagged against Maas and let her tears come.

“Where is Auden?” she asked. “I want to see Brother Auden.”

Maas stroked her hair. “He is taking the body to Holy Island. Valc had no other family, so the monk took charge of seeing him to his final resting place.”

Cadha shook her head against his comfort. “You don’t understand. I need to see him. I need to see his body for myself. I need to speak with Auden.”

“I can take you to Holy Island,” Maas promised. “Malcolm has said he will give us whatever we need for the journey.”

“The brothers at Lindisfarne should have Valc’s ship,” Cadha said. The words sounded hollow, even as she forced them to come. “Auden should have it.”

“That is what he sailed back to England. He planned to deliver Valc’s treasure box, since he seems to be the only one who knows what to do with it.”

“Yes, Auden would know what to do.”

“For people who have only known each other a week, you three had the deepest trust for one another.” Maas bent to retrieve the sword. “It is quite remarkable.”

Cadha closed her fingers over his hand on the hilt. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“You seem certain that Valc loved me. How did you know?”

Maas gave her a sorrowful smile. “I heard you speaking to him the night you arrived. Not every man would be able to stand in front of the woman they love and turn her away.”

Cadha let the sword tip sink into the ground and touched Mass’s face with her other hand. “Not every man would be able to stand in front of the woman they love and listen to her grieve another man.”

“It depends on how much that man loves you.” Maas closed his eyes and turned into her touch. He kissed her palm and a bolt of emotion shot through her.

Maas had loved her for so many years, steadfast and true. He had talked so often of their being man and wife, it had become the only thing she could trust in the world.

But if she had been ready to leave him behind for the promise of something deeper and more passionate with Valc Vanhorn, she didn’t know if she could trust her feelings. Maybe Valc had been right. Maybe she was allowing emotion to control her.

Maas took her in his arms again and stroked her back in rhythm to his steady breath. She tried to remember the day, not too long past, when they’d stood on the docks in Hoorn and he’d been ready to leave with her father to go to Scotland. It was such a faint memory now, crowded out with the red hot memories of Valc. But it was still there.

The passion was not there, but his love was constant. Maybe that was enough. Cadha walked at Maas’s side back to the castle, dragging Valc’s sword in the dirt, unable to muster the strength to carry it, weighed down by the memory of him waving it in the air, majestic and smiling and ready to defend her unto his death.

Chapter Nineteen

Cadha hadn’t been able to look at the coast since the man they called Old Yaris announced that the ship was approaching the island. Maas had promised her a stop at Holy Island, and had offered to take her home to her parents after they saw Valc’s grave.

The trip had taken a whole day, and another day almost through, and the sight of the tiny island sitting just off the coast should have given her the ending she had been seeking. Instead, it brought tears to her eyes once again.

Maas held her against the wind and they’d studied what could be seen from the side of the ship that faced away from the island. He hadn’t asked any questions when she refused to look at the monastery. Instead, he remained with her in silence.

The captain spoke to Maas in quiet tones. They lowered the ship’s boat and Maas held out his hand to escort Cadha down the rope ladder. She almost couldn’t take it.

She didn’t want to see Brother Auden alive. A part of her kept imagining that Auden and Valc were off together somewhere on an adventure, protecting the girls who suffered injustice in Berwick, or fighting the Bastard of Balfour in the North Sea. But if she saw Auden, it would make Valc’s death too real for her.

Then, he would really be gone.

For a long moment, Cadha closed her eyes and pictured Valc as she remembered him, white shirt hanging open, ridiculous dress discarded, hair whipping in the wind, sword high in the air. She needed to hold on to this memory for as long as God and nature would allow.

She took Maas’s hand and climbed into the boat after him.

“I will anchor here.” The captain and his toothless grin receded into the distance as Holy Island grew larger.

Cadha tried to imagine what it had been like for Valc to wake on the shore of this island, cold and wet and tired, in the dark. Had he looked for her? Had he gone straight to the monastery? She’d never asked him. There were so many things she’d never asked him, and now...

Maas had recounted the story of the real Greta—the woman Valc had pretended to be in order to get Cadha to buy passage on his ship. And there were things she thought Auden could tell her that Valc had told only him. But she didn’t know who else to speak to. She had no idea who she should notify of Valc’s death. He’d never spoken of anyone else, and she knew he didn’t have any other family. Was she the last person on earth who would ever visit his grave?

Maas rowed them into the beach and helped Cadha step out onto the sand. She looked into the bottom of the boat and saw Maas had brought the sword. Cadha bent to grab it and found herself almost unable to stand again. Maas came behind her and helped her to her feet. He dragged the boat far enough up the beach that they would be able to return to it, and they began the trek up to the monastery.

They passed the first rise, and came to the road. A woman gave them a strange look as they climbed up onto the smooth path, but she rushed forward to help Cadha onto the solid ground.

She said something to Maas and then offered a wan smile. He translated, “She said they’re coming from the chapel. There’s a priest up at the monastery who says mass every day.”

Cadha looked up and down the road and saw it was filled with people. Couples, families, children running ahead of their parents, or stopping to play in the tall grass alongside.

A large puddle had formed not far from where they stood and a little boy pounced in it, sending splashes of water everywhere. Cadha dragged the sword behind her and got more strange looks from the villagers, but she didn’t care. They were streaming down the hill from the monastery and by the time Cadha and Maas reached the top, the crowd had thinned.

A few monks waited at the door to the chapel. One of them looked down at her weapon and forced a smile. He spoke to her in English, and Maas tried to translate for her.

“He says there are no weapons allowed in the house of God.”

Cadha snorted. “With a smile on his face, no less.” She pulled the sword up into her arms. “I’m not leaving it with him.”

Maas placed her near the door and spoke to the monk, then came back to Cadha. “I’m going with him to find Brother Auden and the cemetery. You can stay here, outside the building, if you prefer.”

“I’ll stay,” she said, and sagged against the door.

“I will return shortly.” Maas bent in to kiss her forehead and she rested against him for a moment. “Would you like me to send this monk and stay here while we wait for Auden?”

“No. Go.” She rested the sword against the building. “I will be well, I promise.”