Sound of the Heart (13 page)

CHAPTER 18

Dougal’s Secret

The most beautiful sounds Dougal had ever heard filled their croft. When Glenna wasn’t singing, she laughed, and when she laughed, he couldn’t stop his own from bubbling over. And the relief he felt was almost as wonderful. He had known all along there was something between them. A connection that went beyond friendship. And now here they were, lovers as well as friends, their days and nights filled with each other.

He hadn’t been wrong, approaching her like that. Now there were no more nights of silence. Their beds were pushed together so they fell asleep in each other’s arms, sometimes mid-sentence. They awoke in the barely lit hours, nudging each other by accident or on purpose, making love whenever the feeling came upon them.

And she no longer whispered in her sleep. She had shed her secrets, let them out of her head and given them to him.

When they weren’t loving or laughing, they worked together at making their secret life in the Highlands successful. Life wasn’t safe in Scotland anymore. Not only did the English still wander the Highlands, ridding the land of Scots, but Glenna and Dougal were escaped convicts. They had to stay hidden from any wandering troops and were always on the lookout.

They did the best with what they had. They fished, hunted, and trapped side by side. Glenna was a skilled archer, and Dougal delighted in watching her take down a deer with one perfectly aimed arrow.

Every now and then they made the trip to a nearby town to trade in furs and come back with necessities. In the beginning they had hidden beneath hoods, skulking in the streets. Then one day Glenna traded for a plain homespun dress. She brought it home and slipped it on, then tied the long fall of her hair back. It took Dougal back a step, seeing her dressed like that, and she seemed equally shocked, but it made visiting town a lot easier. When they were alone, she usually still wore breeks because she complained the dress was heavy and bulky, but whenever they went to town, she was every bit the beautiful, but typically dressed lady.

No one was looking for an escaped Scottish prisoner who wore a dress.

Dougal shaved his thick black beard almost every day, and cut his hair until it no longer covered his face unless the wind pushed it there. The ends reached to his shoulders but no farther, and he combed it back into a tail, tying it with a leather cord like he had as a boy. He wanted to look as presentable as she did when they went into town.

In the twilight, in the flickering dimness of an oil lamp, he taught her to read. She was frustrated at first, demanding perfection from herself from the beginning, but he moved slowly, with infinite patience. She wanted this, and Dougal was determined to give her everything she wanted. He brought new books home from almost every trading mission.

When they reached the end of one of their tethers, they would either stop for the night or move on to something new. Dougal dug in his memory for the lessons his mother had so earnestly tried to teach, and was able to unearth lessons in mathematics, history, and geography. Glenna was a sponge, soaking up everything he had to offer. There were times she nearly wore him out with her thirst for learning, but he never discouraged it. Every bit of information he taught her opened a new window into her fascinating mind and he reveled in her determination.

Glenna sang to him almost every night. Sometimes after they made love, he was aware of her watching him fall asleep. She leaned on her elbow and toyed with the strands of his hair while singing something sweet as honey, just for him. He felt her there, though his eyes were closed. It was as if her diminutive presence cushioned him, kept him safe, as ridiculous as that might sound. Her fingers were strong, their tips small and calloused, and he kissed each one separately, listening to her giggle.

But deep in his heart, which was almost entirely filled with her, he struggled with an unspoken secret. Every time she looked at him, her eyes so trusting, her own secrets all told, he got closer to telling her what no one else knew. About the things he heard in his head that he shouldn’t hear. He’d never shared the secret with anyone.

One night after they’d made love, she snuggled her back against his side and sighed deeply, resting her cheek on his arm as if it were a pillow. He imagined her feathery eyelashes touching her cheeks and kissed the back of her neck.

“Ye dinna believe in the kirk, do ye?” he asked.

“In the kirk? Why? What made ye think of that?”

“It’s only I want to ask somethin’ that has to do wi’ believin’ what ye canna see.”

“Oh?” She rolled back so that she faced the ceiling, and gave him a bemused smile. “Believin’ what ye canna see is easy for me.”

“Is it? Why’s that?”

“Because, my wee fool, I canna see how much ye love me, but I believe it.”

He grinned. “Ah. I’m the fool, aye? Well, perhaps ye’re right,
mo ghràidh
. For ye’re wise—most of the time.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Tell me this thing. What is it I canna see, Dougal?”

He propped himself up onto one elbow so that he gazed down into her face. She lay relaxed, her expression curious. She made him feel safe, and that made him marvel.

“I’ve never told a soul this,” he said, then paused, still waiting to hear her laugh at him, doubt him, ignore this most precious of secrets.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“It’s something that I . . . Well, it’s something I’ve done since I was a young lad. Ye’ll say I’m—”

“Dinna think of what I’ll say, Dougal. Just say it.”

“All right. Here it is then. Laugh if ye must. Since I was wee, I’ve been able to hear what some men think.”

She frowned and gave a little shrug. “Aye? So? It’s easy to tell what a man’s thinking.”

“No. No’ like that. No’ like ye think. I dinna read a man’s expression an’ figure it out from there. No. I hear what’s kept inside their heads. Andrew could do it as well, I think.”

The frown still creased her brow and he dragged a golden strand of hair across it. “If that’s so,” she asked, “then why is it ye didna ken I was a woman?”

“Because I canna read women’s minds.”

She lifted her eyebrows and the wrinkles disappeared. “Do ye do it all the time?”

“The voices come to me whether I want them or no’. Sometimes I listen, sometimes I try not to.”

A few moments of silence passed while she ingested his secret, then she looked away, staring instead at the wooden beam of their home. When she looked in his eyes again, he thought he detected sadness in them.

“That must be a chore,” she said, then brightened. “Then again, it might be a help as well.”

“Aye. It can go either way.”

She didn’t move for a second and Dougal peered closely at her in the darkness. She stared back at him, her eyes open wide, unblinking, her face a mask of intensity.

“What is it?” he asked.

She continued to stare at him, saying nothing.

“Glenna?” he demanded. “Are ye all right? Are ye angry? Did I say somethin’ to upset ye?”

She huffed and grinned. “All right then. I was just makin’ sure.”

“Of what?”

“That you couldna read my thoughts. I dinna want ye in my head all the time.”

He laughed and ducked his head down so he could nuzzle her neck. “Why no’? Ye’re in mine all the time.” She giggled. “What were ye thinkin’ of anyway?”

“I was thinkin’ how much I’d like to go huntin’ tomorrow, fetch us some venison.”

Dougal shook his head, smiling. “I make love to ye, I tell ye my deepest secret, and ye think of aught but huntin’?”

He saw the white of her smile in the dark. “I only wanted to think of something ye’d no’ be able to guess.” She took one of his ears between her fingers and began to massage it in the way he couldn’t resist. “Can ye read what I’m thinkin’ now?”

“No, Glenna, I told ye, I canna—”

Her other hand skimmed over his chest, moving downward until she could press it firmly between his legs.

“How about now?”

He breathed deeply and kissed her waiting lips. “Oh, aye. I read ye well.”

Days, months, and years passed, their lives as simple as those of any other couple in the Highlands, aside from the fact that they were outlaws and therefore needed to remain invisible. Dougal was constantly amazed at how she made him feel, how she filled him with such contentment, whether they kept busy around the home or simply sat by the fire, doing something quiet like mending or sharpening blades. He had thought his life before had been happy, before war had taken it away. But it was nothing to this new existence, this sense of knowing. Of understanding that he had found what he’d been lacking all along.

She was everything he needed: a companion, a confidante, and a lover with a hunger equal to his own. He still missed his family; he wished he could introduce her to them. Andrew would have loved her. He’d have said she was far too good for Dougal, but Dougal would have known he was joking.

His mind drifted to Andrew fairly often, reluctantly following that bittersweet path. Of anyone in the world, Andrew would appreciate the life Dougal had now. If only he could have lived long enough to experience his own love. If only he could have lost himself to a woman as Dougal had. The thought made Dougal chuckle. How would their silent conversations go then? Maybe it was better he couldn’t share those thoughts. As much as he was proud of Glenna, wanted to show her off, there were certain aspects to their relationship that no one but they should see.

Glenna seemed just as happy as he felt. Her smile became a sight so familiar to him he couldn’t imagine living without it. As long as he had Glenna, everything would be all right.

CHAPTER 19

The Hunt Begins

The winter of 1756 had been brief and violent, as if it had handed out a severe punishment, then relaxed with satisfaction, witnessing the devastation it had wrought. Hunters and hunted were famished when mid-February arrived, and fortunately it was warm enough for Dougal and Glenna to hunt again. Ice and snow still claimed most of the land and the few tufts of stubborn grass poking through were dry and brown. Deer were scarce. Dougal and Glenna spent all morning scouring the woods for spoor, though they knew any prey they found would be emaciated.

At last they found a small pile beside their trail, still slightly warm, and hope began to stir in the hunters’ hungry bellies. The track led to a treeless outcropping, the granite slick and black underfoot. Dougal was surefooted as the wiliest of deer, but even he had trouble keeping his feet under him when they passed by the edge of a sheer cliff. Below they heard the rush of rapids, swollen by the beginnings of spring thaw.

Glenna led, creeping away from the precipice, her gaze rapt. When she stopped, so did Dougal, ignoring the urge to tug affectionately on the single flaxen braid falling down her back. Instead, he followed her line of vision and caught sight of the deer.

The beast stood no more than twenty feet away, upwind from where Dougal and Glenna stood, almost hidden among the skeletons of leafless trees. Young, with only two small points to his antlers, the buck had plainly eaten even more poorly than Dougal and Glenna lately. The angled mounds of his shoulder bones protruded under the mangy coat, the hard prominence of his rib cage was clearly visible, his round black nose was dry, and his neck arched with a distant memory of health.

The deer’s long lips flapped at small piles of unmelted snow as if hoping to find some trace of sustenance buried within. Dougal slowly reached behind his back to slide his bow from his shoulder, but Glenna was there first. Silent as the cloudless sky, she had already nocked the arrow, a look of fierce concentration claiming her expression. Her shoulders were taut, strong right arm hitched back, fingers hooked on the string. She squinted, closing her left eye and focusing on the target. Dougal’s gaze flickered from her to the deer, heard the almost imperceptible twang of the release, then the subtle thud as the arrow struck home.

The sorry buck collapsed, half into the mud, half into the porous crystals of a black-crusted snowdrift. The beast lay still, without even one jerking muscle. Clean through the heart, then. Her skill always impressed Dougal. He’d never seen her miss.

Glenna shrugged. “Poor fellow did better by my arrow than he might have by other means.”

“True enough,” Dougal said, nodding. “He was starvin’ worse than we are.”

She shouldered her bow and they walked toward the motionless brown shape. Halfway there, Dougal stopped short, startled by an unfamiliar
click!
from within the trees. Glenna stood still beside him and glanced inquiringly up. He peered through the woods around them, but saw nothing move. He supposed it could have just been a lump of melted snow crashing through the brittle limbs.

“Ye heard nothin’?” he asked.

She shrugged again. “No.”

Slightly reassured, he nodded and unsheathed his dirk, then went to gather up the deer. He crouched beside the animal’s mangy coat and rested his fingers on the neck, feeling for a pulse, finding none. He tugged the arrow from the animal’s side, absently noting the weak resistance of the heart muscles as it released. Glenna’s aim was absolutely perfect, he thought, smiling to himself.

Dougal swiped the broad arrowhead against his breeks, cleaning the blood from its tip, then straightened, handing the arrow to Glenna. But what he saw in her expression froze the blood in his veins. The sun was sinking, its pale orange rays surrounding her like a halo. She stood stiff as rock, save the rapid flit of her eyes.

Behind and beside her stood five red-coated soldiers, faces partially hidden by the open-mouthed barrels of their muskets. The soldiers looked almost as scruffy as did they, but were much better armed. Dougal stood to his full height so that he towered over them, and took a protective step toward Glenna.

The muskets immediately transferred their attention onto him as was his intent. Dougal looked at Glenna, trying to hold her eyes on his. She was trembling, her eyes wild with panic.

This will be fine,
his expression tried to tell her.
We will be all right.

A shudder ran through her and Dougal knew she saw again the life they had escaped back at Tilbury, a decade ago.

I’m here. I’ll keep ye safe,
he tried to tell her, but she looked away.

She knew. Just like his brothers had on that bloody April morning. He had assured them they would live, and they had died. They had known despite what he’d said, but he’d said it anyway.

“This here’s the king’s property,” announced one soldier, jerking Dougal’s gaze from Glenna. “And you’ll be coming with us as well.”

“Why’s that?” Dougal asked.

“You’re poachers, you are.”

“No’ poachers,” Dougal replied, folding his arms across his chest. “This land isna English, ’tis still Scotland, the last time I checked, and—” He stopped abruptly, feeling foolish. Of course it was English. There was no Scotland anymore.

“Good of you to feed the king li’ this,” another soldier said, stooping to lift the slack-jawed head of the deer. He examined the slender neck, then dropped the head to the dirt. “His Majesty’s army is hungry.” He grinned, showing dark, tobacco-stained teeth, which would shortly be tearing into Glenna’s catch.

Dougal wasn’t sure what to do. They were plainly outnumbered. He had to protect Glenna. Fortunately, the soldiers solved his dilemma when one of the soldiers grabbed at her, attempting to cup her chin in his hand. Dougal lunged at him without thinking, grabbed the man, and rolled him to the ground. He slugged the soldier’s face and heard the fine jawbone crack under his fist. He pulled his arm back to strike again but hunched forward when a boot connected with his kidney. Rolling off the first soldier, who now lay moaning and gripping his face in the mud behind him, Dougal seized the offending boot and yanked the second man to the ground. They rolled over each other, sliding down the slippery granite floor, grasping at any kind of purchase while still concentrating on the fight.

The soldier managed to slam his fist into Dougal’s nose, hard enough that his head snapped back on his neck. For a moment he saw stars and a wave of nausea caught in his belly. He gasped in air and forced himself back to the fight, but by now the soldier had climbed on top of him and was pressing the long barrel of his musket across Dougal’s throat, leaning hard so that there was no more air to grab. Stars began to reemerge in his vision.

“Dougal!” Glenna screamed.

He couldn’t see her, but he heard her terror, and from that he garnered enough strength to roll his legs under the man’s belly and kick up, sending him flying. Grasping at his throat and wheezing hard, Dougal struggled to his knees, forcing the bruised muscles to open, to allow in air. He took a moment to glance toward Glenna and saw two soldiers had her arms pinned behind her back. For the time being they weren’t hurting her, only watching Dougal battle the other three. She struggled against them, but she wasn’t going anywhere.

They couldn’t go back to prison. Couldn’t. It would kill her, and quite possibly kill him as well. He couldn’t allow it.

The stunned soldier had gotten back to his feet and returned to Dougal. One hand clenched the hilt of a light English sword, tarnished blade almost black in the fading light. The other hand was an angry fist. The soldier’s eyes flickered to just behind Dougal’s head and a smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

“Dougal!” Glenna shrieked, this time with urgency. Dougal’s blade was halfway out of its sheath when everything went black.