Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (16 page)

Despite his best
efforts to remind himself of all the reasons why he didn’t deserve the lass
riding in front of him on Fletch’s back—why he didn’t deserve happiness at
all—Garrick felt joy seeping into his limbs.

Jossalyn’s hair
kept brushing his face, and the combination of her scent and her soft, slim
body pressed against him was becoming familiar yet thrillingly tantalizing. Burke
had come through the fever, and his leg, though still healing, would eventually
be fine. And he was headed back toward Robert the Bruce’s camp—once they turned
northward anyway—where he would be able to deliver the news of Longshanks’
death and complete this mission. With Jossalyn at his side.

Though the fears
and worries still bubbled up through his growing happiness, it felt as though
the decision were already made, and since Jossalyn was coming with him to the
Bruce’s camp, he might as well enjoy their connection. Despite all the odds,
despite his dark deeds as part of the Scottish resistance, and his attempts to
resist what now seemed inevitable, they were together for this journey, and
they sought the same destination—the Bruce’s headquarters.

They even both
sought the same work, in a way. They both wanted to help the Bruce and the
other Scottish rebels achieve their freedom. He still didn’t dare let himself
get carried away in his imagination, but a seed of hope was beginning to take
root in his mind. Perhaps there was a chance that they could have a future
together. He knew he should just be grateful for the time he had with her now,
but he was greedy. He wanted more of her.

He let himself
indulge in the pleasurable ache for her throughout the long night as they cut
eastward across the Lowlands. He savored the moment when she leaned back
against his chest about halfway through the night, her head tucked under his
chin and her body warm and limp in his arms. He let her wildflower scent wrap around
him. He even gave over the lead to Burke, allowing himself to simply follow his
cousin instead of cut the path himself as he relished the feel of her against
him. She slept like that for a few hours, but all too soon the sky began to
lighten with the first traces of dawn, and she slowly came awake.

“I’m sorry,” she
said softly, turning her head slightly over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to
fall—”

“Rest all you
like, lass. I don’t mind.” And he meant it. He wasn’t thinking about the
fastest path back to the Bruce and his camp at the moment. He was here with her
now.

Suddenly, Burke
reined in his horse and cursed. Garrick tore his eyes away from Jossalyn’s
upturned face and followed Burke’s gaze. They had come upon a clearing in the
woods, and the pre-dawn light revealed a small cottage along with a barn and
shed nearby.

But something was
wrong.

Instead of a trail
of smoke winding out of the cottage’s chimney, there was smoke rising from one
of the corners of the thatched roof. Or what was left of the thatched roof. The
charred remains of the thatch appeared black in the bluish light, and though
one corner still smoked, it looked like the fire had been out for several
hours.

The glen was dead
quiet.

Instinctively,
Garrick reached for his bow, which was sticking partway out of one of his
saddlebags. Burke’s hand was already on the sword at his waist. Garrick
clutched the bow, but there was nothing to shoot at, and besides, Jossalyn’s
position in front of him would prevent him from firing an accurate shot anyway.
She suddenly tensed in front of him, seeing the cabin and sensing the men’s
alertness.

He swung down from
the saddle, but didn’t reach up to pull Jossalyn to the ground after him. Instead,
he placed the reins in her hand.

“Stay on Fletch’s
back, lass,” he said in a low voice. “If anything happens, I want you to spur
him as hard as you can and guide him toward the north.” He indicated the
direction with the curved end of his bow, then locked eyes with her, making
sure she understood.

She swallowed and
nodded, her eyes wide and dark green in the dim light. He pulled his quiver out
of his saddlebag, then slung it over his shoulder, keeping his bow firmly
gripped in his hand. Burke had already dismounted and had drawn his sword all
the way. The two men made eye contact, each giving the other a little nod. Then
they slowly approached the cottage, both sweeping their half of the glen with
their eyes, weapons at the ready. Nothing moved except for the grass around
each man’s feet, and the glen was silent and still.

When they were
about halfway to the cottage, Garrick thought he made out a dark lump in the
high grass, but he wasn’t sure. He slowly stepped closer.

Jossalyn’s scream
cut through the silence like a knife.

He spun around, an
arrow already nocked and his bowstring drawn back to his cheek. Jossalyn still
sat atop Fletch at the edge of the forest, but her eyes were locked on
something on the ground off to her right. Garrick shot Burke a quick glance,
and after Burke’s nod to him, Garrick sprinted back toward Jossalyn, the tip of
his arrow lowered but the bow still half-draw and at the ready.

As he drew nearer,
he could make out the look of horror that was transforming Jossalyn’s delicate
features. Once at her side, he let his eyes follow the line of her gaze. Several
feet away in the forest’s undergrowth, he saw a small shoe. His eyes trailed
farther still, and when he saw what had caused Jossalyn to scream, he swallowed
hard.

A child lay
motionless in the underbrush, face-up and open-eyed.

His throat was
slit.

Garrick unnocked
the arrow and slipped it back in his quiver, then quickly slung his bow over
his shoulder and turned to Jossalyn. Her eyes were wide and horror-stricken,
her mouth open, but no scream came out.

“Jossalyn,
sweeting, look at me,” he said quietly at Fletch’s side. “Look at me,
Jossalyn,” he said more firmly when she remained frozen.

She didn’t respond
or seem to have heard him, so he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled
her down from Fletch’s back. Fletch was now between her and the child’s
lifeless body, and she was forced to tear her eyes away from the scene. He took
her chin in his hands and leaned into her face, locking his eyes on hers.

“Jossalyn, listen
to me. No matter what, that boy was innocent. Do you hear me? No matter what
happened, that boy is in heaven now. Jossalyn, he is in heaven now, and nothing
can hurt him.”

She blinked. His
words may have penetrated to the back recesses of her mind, but she didn’t show
it. She stared blankly at him for a moment, then furrowed her brow.

“Where is the rest
of his family? He is too young to be playing in the woods by himself. Where is
his family?” She spoke in a detached tone that frightened him. She began walked
toward the cabin, muttering, “Where is his family?” under her breath. She
sounded like she would chastise the boy’s parents for letting the child into
the forest by himself, as if he hadn’t been murdered and left there to rot. He
tried to grip her arm to stop her from going farther into the glen, but she
shook him off and walked faster.

“Jossalyn, don’t!”
Burke shouted from the cottage’s doorway. He had sheathed his sword and poked
his head inside, but his face was hard and tight from whatever he had seen within.

But it was too
late. She had made it halfway across the glen, Garrick hurrying behind her,
when she halted dead in her tracks. She had reached the dark lump in the grass
that had been indiscernible to Garrick earlier in the pre-dawn dimness.

Now he saw that it
was another body.

A woman’s body. She
lay face-down in the tall grass of the glen, but her skirts were pulled up and
twisted around her waist. Suddenly Jossalyn turned away and retched into the
grass.

Garrick hardened
himself to the sight before him on the ground. He had seen the likes before. He
hated himself for turning off inside, but it was the only way he knew how to
cope with the sight of the violation and slaughter of women and children. He
knelt briefly by the woman’s side, tugging her skirts down so that at least she
had some dignity in death. He whispered a prayer for her as Burke came to his
side, limping slightly.

His cousin was
grim-faced and ashen, even in the warming light of the pre-dawn sky. Garrick
indicated toward the woods and said quietly, “A child.”

Burke nodded and
swallowed, then jutted his chin toward the cabin. “It’s burned out in there,
but there was another…a girl…”

He couldn’t go on,
but he didn’t have to. Garrick could picture perfectly another murdered child,
but because she was a girl, she had likely been raped like her mother. Garrick
turned his back on the entire scene, fearing that like Jossalyn, he would
become sick. She had finished retching in the grass and was slowly pulling
herself upright as she dragged a shaky hand over her mouth. He strode to her
side, then took her by the arm and walked her to the opposite edge of the
forest, so that her back was to the glen.

On the other side
of the glen, she suddenly seemed to come to pieces. A moan escaped her, and she
leaned limply toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, steadying her as sobs
racked her body. He felt useless and hollow, but tried to give her every last
shred of himself as she cried into his shoulder. He stroked her hair,
whispering every endearment he could think of. When his English ran out, he
switched over to Gaelic, murmuring all the sweet words his nursemaid used to
say whenever he or his brothers were sick.

The sky grew
lighter, then the sun cracked over the horizon and through the trees at the
edge of the forest where they stood. Garrick was vaguely aware that Burke had
moved slowly around the glen, finishing their sweep of the area and gathering
their horses, and was now approaching. Jossalyn’s crying was slowing and
quieting, and eventually she placed a hand on his chest, pushing back a bit so
that she was standing upright on her own two feet. He kept his hands on her
upper arms to steady her, though. She wiped both hands across her face, drying
the tears with the sleeves of her dress. She took a few deep breaths, trying to
regain some composure.

“What happened
here?” she said finally. Her voice was cracked and dry from her sobs.

Garrick exchanged
a look with Burke, weighing how much to tell her.

“The English,” he
finally said simply.

A look of shock
and horror briefly returned to her face. “What do you mean? You think the English
did this?”

Garrick nodded. It
chilled him, but he knew it was the truth. He only wished that she hadn’t had
to face the horrible reality that was his world. Death. Rape. Razed villages. Murdered
children. This was his life. He had immersed himself in it, lived with it, and
returned kill for kill. He knew he still had a shred of honor—he had never
violated women or killed children—but he doled out death to the English, just
as they doled it out to the Scottish. Now she would finally see him for what he
was. Now his beautiful, foolish dream of a future with Jossalyn would be over. He
steeled himself, closing himself off to the pain just as he did at the sight of
death.

He turned and took
Fletch’s reins, preparing to mount.

“That’s it? How do
you know this was done by the English? You are just leaving?” Her voice rose in
anger as he swung into his saddle.

“I can explain
more later, but I don’t plan on lingering here any longer,” he said, a bit more
curtly than he had intended.

“But what about
the b—…the bodies?”

He couldn’t quite
suppress a flinch. It was despicable, but they would have to leave them as they
were. “If whoever did this comes back through the area, they will know that
someone else was here and may still be nearby. Avoiding detection is our best
chance to get to the north in one piece.”

“He’s right,
lass,” Burke said, far more gently than Garrick would ever be able to manage. For
some reason he hated his cousin for a moment. He was always able to find the
right words, to be kind and understanding, while Garrick was rough and curt. Of
course, Burke’s ability to think and act smoothly on his feet had saved them
more than once, but some small part of him was jealous that compared to Burke,
he was a walking, talking sledge hammer.

Jossalyn suddenly
looked exhausted. There were dark smudges under her red-rimmed eyes, and her
shoulders slumped forward like it was an effort just to stay upright. She
didn’t say anything, but walked over to Fletch and extended her hand to be
pulled up into the saddle, though she didn’t make eye contact with Garrick. Once
she and Burke were both settled, he spurred Fletch due north. The time for
dallying was long gone.

By the time they
stopped a few hours later, Jossalyn was numb inside. She didn’t speak as
Garrick helped her down, or as he forced some dried biscuits and meat, along
with his waterskin, into her hands. She took a few bites, but the food tasted
like sand in her mouth. The water helped rinse away the taste of sickness that
lingered in the back of her throat, but she only managed to take a few sips.

Yet even as she
retreated into herself as she struggled to comprehend what she had seen back at
the glen, several questions whispered in the recesses of her mind. She had let
them wash over her as they had ridden hard toward the north, but now they were
ready to bubble over.

“You never
answered me,” she said finally, startling both Garrick and Burke, who had
sunken into the silence and were leaning over a small fire that Burke had built.
“How do you know that it was the English?” For some reason, her mind rejected
the idea that her countrymen—former countrymen, she reminded herself—could do
such things to innocent people.

Garrick recovered
from his surprise first, but his gray eyes turned hard and flat. “Why do you
doubt that it was?” he asked quietly. He didn’t say it, but she caught his
implication. She claimed to be sympathetic to the Scots, but when it came down
to it, she was still English—and always would be.

She faltered for a
moment, unsure of herself. Why did she resist the idea that Englishmen could do
such horrible things? She had heard whispered stories of atrocities on both
sides, but seeing for herself was different than hearing rumors. “I just…I don’t
know how you can be so sure. I have heard before that the Scots raid each
other’s lands and even have blood feuds—”

Garrick spat into
the fire, startling her. “Lass, feuding clans steal sheep from each other, they
don’t rape and murder women and children,” he said vehemently.

She jumped and
leaned back from him slightly at his tone and words.

“Easy, cousin,”
Burke said lowly, putting a hand on Garrick’s arm, but he shrugged it off and
stood up.

“If you want the
truth, lass, that was in all likelihood the work of your brother and his
soldiers.” The words came out cold, but Garrick’s eyes flamed with gray fire.

She was so shocked
at his words that she jerked upright from her seat next to the fire and took
several steps backward.

“Garrick.” Burke’s
voice was laden with warning.

“She wanted the
truth, didn’t she?” Garrick said, turning his anger on Burke. “She should be
able to face the realities of war—of England’s tyranny over Scotland—before she
joins the war effort. Perhaps now that she knows what happens to Scotswomen
under English invasion, she’ll no longer want to adopt the Scottish cause. Maybe
she’ll finally want to go home to her brother.”

She closed the
distance between them in two strides. Before she knew what she was doing, she
raised her hand and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

He saw the slap
coming, but stood still. He deserved it. He was spewing out all his anger
toward the English at her, like her nationality was her fault, or that she had
caused not only the scene back at the glen but the countless others like it he
had seen over the years.

But it went deeper
than that. She had to know the truth—about the war, about the English, and
about himself.

He hadn’t liked
the idea of her joining the war effort from the beginning. Though she was a
gifted healer and her skills would surely be valuable to the rebellion, the
thought of her having to face the realities of their battles against the
English disturbed him. She obviously already knew how cruel her brother was.
But he had assumed that since she sympathized with the Scots, she understood
the low tactics English soldiers and their commanders had stooped to in order
to control and oppress the Scots.

But perhaps it was
worse than simple naiveté on her part. Maybe she still felt the need to defend
the English for their behavior. The thought chilled him, for he didn’t want to
doubt her, but twice now she had hesitated when it came to recognizing the
cruelties of her brother and the English, and he had to remind himself that
blood ties and birth origins couldn’t just be sloughed off with a change of
location.

Even if his doubts
about her loyalty were misplaced, the fact remained that she was deeply averse
to war and its results—as she should be. Most people didn’t live as close to
the violence and death as he did. He was proud to aid the Bruce and the
Scottish rebellion in the best way he could—with his bow—but he could no longer
deceive himself that the tenderness and strength of one lass could save him
from all that he had seen and done. He was past redemption.

It sickened him to
push her away like this, to make her see the fact that he wasn’t some knight in
shining armor, but he had indulged his fantasy too long.

He kept his hands
clenched at his sides, feeling the sting in his cheek slowly fade. She stood in
front of him, panting, her hands balled at her sides as well.

“Are we done now,
lass?” he said lowly. Surely now she would be through with arguing, but more,
she would be through with
him
and the nightmare into which he had
dragged her.

She inhaled
sharply through her nose, then intentionally unclenched her hands. “No, we are
not done. We need to talk about all of this further.”

He had been
bracing himself for her rejection of him, for her to turn her back on him and
leave his life forever, with only the faint memory of brief happiness to hold
onto during the long, cold nights alone on some mission. That kind of pain
would have been sharp, and he was ready for it, but he wasn’t prepared for her
to say that they needed to talk things through. Suddenly he felt the anger and
tension leave his body, to be replaced by confusion and uncertainty.

Burke coughed
surreptitiously, breaking the silence that stretched as Garrick and Jossalyn
stared at each other. “I think I’ll scout the area. I’ll be gone for at least
two hours.” With that, he quietly slipped away into the surrounding forest and
left them alone.

“What do you mean,
we need to talk?” Despite his surprise at her words, Garrick still spoke in a
guarded tone.

She sighed and
wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry I slapped you,” she said, not
addressing his question.

“I deserved it.”

“Why do you think
that my brother and his men were responsible for…for what happened back in that
clearing?” She sounded weary rather than angry this time.

He scrubbed a hand
over his face, feeling exhausted himself. “They were coming from the east when
they passed our camp. They could have come across the cottage as they cut
northwest in one of their sweeps.”

She swallowed, and
tears shimmered in her eyes again.

“It could have
been some other band of Englishmen looking to cause trouble and send a message
to the Scots,” he said gently, trying to ease her pain. “But…”

“What? Tell me.”

“Raef Warren is
known to have done similar things elsewhere in Scotland,” Garrick said reluctantly.
She didn’t need to picture her brother doing such terrible things to more innocent
people, but Garrick had been there on Sinclair lands when the English swept
through four years ago. They had waged war not just on the Scottish warriors,
but also on the small villages and crofts filled with women and children.

She sat down hard
on the ground all of a sudden. “I know he is capable of such things,” she said,
her voice pinched with emotion.

He knelt next to
her, struggling to think of something to say or do to ease her suffering. Tears
had begun streaming down her cheeks, but she swallowed her sobs, visibly trying
to maintain some of her composure.

“Jossalyn, you
don’t have to be a part of this.” His own voice was low but slightly strained
to his ears. “You can still leave. Go back to England and make a new life for
yourself in some small village. Or stay in Scotland, but don’t join the war
effort.” Saying these words was hard, but it was the right thing to do. He
couldn’t be selfish. He had to let her go.

Her face
transformed from pained control to shock. “But don’t you see? This is exactly
why I want to join the fight for Scottish freedom!”

He furrowed his
brow. He didn’t see.

Perceiving his
confusion, she went on. “I can’t stand the thought of living in a world where
such terrible things happen, where the strongest and meanest get their way at
any cost. Maybe I am foolish to think that the world could be any different
than that, but I at least want to try to make it better.”

He was stunned for
a moment by her conviction and strength. She had explained her reasons for
wanting to help the Scottish cause before, but perhaps he hadn’t truly listened
to her. He had likely immediately started to calculate all the reasons why it
was too dangerous for a lass—for a lass he cared so much about—to involve
herself, rather than actually listen to her commitment to do what she thought
was right. Aye, he would still worry about her, but who was he to try to
control her or take away her ability to pursue her sense of duty and justice?

“I owe you an
apology, lass,” he said, lowering his head. “I should have listened to you
before when you made your mission clear. I won’t doubt you again.”

She seized his
hands in hers, bringing his eyes back up. Her tears were drying now, and her
eyes were wide and bright with surprise. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course. I was
harsh with my words before, but I hope you can forgive me for worrying about
you. I just…don’t want any harm to come to you,” he said haltingly.

Suddenly she was
in his arms. She flung her arms around his neck and slammed into his chest,
pressing her face into his shoulder. He nearly toppled backward out of his
crouched position, but managed to stay upright.

“And I won’t
question your loyalty again, either,” he said into her golden hair. “You’ve
more than proved yourself. You saved Burke’s life, and you could have alerted
your brother to our location back inside that shelter, but you didn’t. I think
I’ve been suspicious of people too long and couldn’t see what was right in
front of me.”

She pulled back a
little so that she could look up into his face with those wide emerald eyes. “And
what was in front of you?”

His chest squeezed
in a strange but not entirely painful way. Now was the time to speak the truth
of his feelings. He had first tried to deny and downplay them, then ignore them,
and finally prayed that they wouldn’t leave him a broken man when he thought that
he and Jossalyn would be forced to part ways.

“You are the
bravest, strongest, most beautiful lass I have ever known.” He let his hand
brush against her strawberries-and-cream cheek, soaking in its velvety
softness. She closed her eyes for a moment at his touch, and he couldn’t read
her for a fraction of a second. A flicker of fear stabbed him. What if she
didn’t feel the same way?

But then her eyes
opened again, and he was drowning in their green depths. They shone with
emotion, but instead of pain, they radiated deep joy. Then suddenly a shy smile
crept to her lips.

“Garrick, I have
tried for a while now to…not think about you—about us— but I can’t seem to help
it,” she said, lowering her eyes as she struggled to find her words.

“I have been
having the same problem, lass,” he said, capturing her chin in his hand and
raising it so that her eyes met his again.

“And have you come
to any solutions?” she said with a slightly arched eyebrow.

He felt the
corners of his mouth quirk. “Aye, I have, but they all involve things that it’s
not polite to talk about in front of a lady.”

Her eyes widened
and a rosy bloom appeared on each of her cheeks. He couldn’t help it. A chuckle
rumbled in his chest at how enjoyable it was to get a rise out of her. But he
sobered quickly, returning to the problem both of them seemed to be struggling
with.

“I have also
thought myself in circles about what might lay ahead for us.”

She furrowed her
brow. “I…enjoy your company greatly. But I also want to go to Robert the
Bruce’s camp and work as a healer.”

For some reason,
her words conjured an image of her tucked safely behind some castle’s fortified
walls, running a keep and busying herself with needlework or some other
occupation for ladies. It was all wrong. She would wither like a plucked
wildflower if she were kept inside or forced to abandon her healing practice.

He suddenly realized
that she was warning him. She wouldn’t be happy as a lady-wife inside some
fortified castle. He had never let himself go so far as to fantasize that they
could be together for life, but now that the thought had entered his mind, he
knew that they would never have a traditional union.

Instead of
frightening him, though, he felt a wave of hope at the realization. One of his
fears had been that he could never have a wife or family because of his work
with the Bruce. But with Jossalyn joining him at the Bruce’s camp…

“Do we have to
choose, lass?”

“What do you
mean?”

“I’m going to the
Bruce’s camp also. And I greatly enjoy your company as well.” He emphasized his
words by letting his thumb brush across her lower lip. She shuddered
involuntarily.

When she could
speak, she said, “Are you saying…are we saying that...?”

“You captivate me,
lass. I can’t lie to myself or you any longer. I care about you, and I want
to…enjoy your company more.” He let all his shades of meaning come through in
his voice with those last words. It was clear that she understood him, for
another blush washed over her face.

“I want that too.”