The Saint Read online

  Mungo’s head jerked up a moment before Cal heard the startled cry from behind him. He whirled around, sword now in hand, to see Isla rushing out from behind the alders, both her hands extended before her, her face pale.

  Cal ran to where she was headed, ready to set her behind him, his gaze fixed on the place she’d emerged, waiting for whatever had sent her fleeing. He caught a glimpse of a reddy-brown feathered bird as it scampered out from behind the alders and then darted deeper into the wood in the opposite direction.

  ‘Isla, you’re safe. ’Twas only a grouse.’ He eased his stance. She was only steps away from him, but it was as if she hadn’t heard him. She ran toward him as if she didn’t see him standing right in front of her. Her harsh breathing echoed in his ears as he sheathed his sword and prepared to catch her. ‘Isla.’ He only had time to say her name before she ploughed into him for the second time since he’d laid eyes on her. His hands caught her upper arms, reducing the impact and preventing her from any serious injury to herself. A feminine grunt escaped her at the same moment he repeated her name. ‘Isla. You’re safe. I have you.’

  She burrowed into his chest, her every breath loud and gasping.

  ‘Shh, all is well. I’ve got you.’ Cal stared at the gentle swaying of the lower branches, the smell of pine from the trees and the scent of smoke trapped in her hair. Why was she so frightened? Did she fear birds? He was at a loss. All he knew was her fear seemed real and great.

  Her fingers slowly crept out from between them and clutched his shirt at both of his sides. Her breaths slowed and quieted until he couldn’t hear them any longer, only feel them as she inhaled and released. Callum had always protected those who needed defending, and over the years there had been many. But never in all that time or on any occasion, had he experienced such a powerful need to succeed. A need that tensed his muscles and quickened his heartbeat as he stood holding this woman he barely knew.

  A chill rushed through him and froze any sense of peace he’d mistakenly believed he was feeling. His fingers tightened around her arms where he still held them, and taking a step back, he set her away from him. ‘Are you well enough to stand on your own?’ His question was directed at the crown of her bowed head. He wanted to take another step away from her, to grow the distance between them, but he had to know she wouldn’t fall once he let her go.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Aye.’ She released the sides of his shirt.

  Cal stared down at her bowed head. Something wasn’t right. ‘Why do you hide your face?’

  Everything about her stilled. She lowered her chin further, but he could see her mouth and witnessed her tongue peek out to moisten her lips. ‘Many men prefer women to be … humble.’

  Her hands were clasped before her, still and calm. Her shoulders were straight and even. She’d just lost her father, saved his horse from possible injury and been frightened by a grouse that was more afraid of her. Isla was many things, confusing being one, but nothing about this woman was humble.

  ‘I’m fine now. Please release me.’

  ‘I will release you, after you look at me.’

  Her fingers clenched each other. ‘Ye expect too much. I don’t even know who ye—’

  ‘My name is Callum. Your father sent me to find you. I am the man who stands between you and the men bent on seeing you dead.’ It sounded harsh, but it was the truth. She was hiding something and before they went any further he needed to discover what it was. Her soft, rose-hued lips flattened into a firm line. She was running out of excuses. ‘Look at me.’

  Her head tilted up and her dark lashes flew wide.

  Just as the Scots pines robbed the small clearing of the sun’s light, something was missing from the eyes looking into his. Eyes, a mixture of green and grey, the same colour of the sky mere moments before a hailstorm, yet different due to the crowd of jagged, golden-brown flecks. Callum searched the gaze focused on him and suddenly realised her gaze couldn’t describe or define what was right in front of her.

  She couldn’t see him.

  Chapter 4

  Isla stood there staring up at this man named Callum, yet saw nothing but muted light. She’d tried to keep her secret safe, at least for a little longer. Until they were further away from Aberdeen, further from those who controlled her life and those who were determined to end it.

  ‘I’d like to tell ye yer more clever than ye look, but alas, I cannae see ye.’ Curse him for looking too closely.

  The silence between them stretched. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his gaze on her wretched eyes. Now he knew, now he’d seen, she refused to look away. But a coldness she’d never experienced before was slowly creeping through her body.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ The man still holding her arms sounded frustrated, along with something else she couldn’t define without seeing his face.

  ‘Oh, aye. If there had been time, I can imagine how I might have told ye. My name is Isa. Thank ye for promising to take me south. Oh, and if risking yer life for someone ye dinnae ken isn’t enough to test ye, I’m also blind. Now let’s be on our way.’

  Isla clenched her hands together and waited for him to release her, afraid once he did she’d never get to feel the warmth of his skin again.

  Forgive me, Father. Her father had said he’d send someone and he had, but she’d just ruined everything with her foolish outburst. The silence of the wood settled about them; all the while invisible hands wound a long strip of linen around her chest and pulled tight.

  Perhaps she should have told him the moment she’d opened the outbuilding’s door. ‘Would knowing have made a difference?’ She swallowed and waited. Few knew of her secret and at this moment, this man was her only hope of getting to Restenneth Priory.

  ‘Knowing you were blind would have made everything different.’

  Aye, he’d likely never have promised her father anything. Even now she’d be in the hands of those who’d come for her, or her ashes would be mingled with smouldering thatch and timber. She swallowed, and needing to hold someone other than herself, she found his forearms and held tight.

  ‘I would have taken more care of your person while defending you.’

  Isla frowned and tilted her head to one side. She must have misheard what he’d said.

  ‘I would have told you I was lifting you onto my horse.’ The flesh beneath her fingers hardened and by feel she learned how easy it had been for him to set her on his horse. ‘I would have searched the alders better before leaving you to your privacy.’

  What was he talking about? He’d taken great care of her.

  ‘Ye saved my life.’ The truth slipped free on a whisper. ‘I’m sorry for nae telling ye. I thought … I believed if I did …’ She tightened her hold on his arms, and not knowing how to finish what she’d set out to say, she stepped closer.

  ‘You thought I would go back on my word?’ His tone deepened. He sounded annoyed. The last thing she wanted to do was to upset him.

  She stepped closer still, licked her lips as her heartbeat raced and pounded at her temples. He’d saved her from her attackers but that had been before he’d learned she was blind. Discovered she’d struggle to defend herself from an attack she could not see. Before she’d become a weighted chain about his neck. A burden many a man would refuse to bear.

  Now she had him in her grasp, she loathed the thought of letting him go.

  ‘There’d be nae shame if ye did.’ Isla lowered her lashes in case the sight of her unseeing eyes turned his stomach. She stepped closer still and pressed the palm of one hand against his chest. The cool hide of his leather vest was warm compared to her chilled hand. ‘I already owe ye my life, but I must get to Restenneth Priory … Please … I’ll—’

  ‘You owe me nothing.’

  His grip on her arms tightened and he set her away.

  Her hands fell to her sides and the loss of touching him tore through her like a blade. Had he already made up his mind? She should have lowered her lashes sooner.r />
  Her cheeks burned and her heartbeat slowed to a thud. Tears stung her useless eyes and she ducked her head trying to hide how much she was hurting. She wrapped her arms about her middle and fought to remain upright. There was nothing more she could do. Her life was once again in another’s hands.

  The crippling thought sent a wave of heat, white heat borne of anger to her cheeks, and set her heart to pounding. She raised her chin.

  * * *

  God save him. From the beautiful temptress before him, but mostly from himself. The moment she’d closed the distance between them and settled her hand flat against his chest, he’d silently cursed his vest and shirt for stealing the feel of her flesh from his skin. His heart had seized, and not until he’d set her away from him, out of his reach, did he feel it resume a sluggish beat.

  He’d spoken the truth. He owed her the apology. He’d shoved her behind him when the third attacker had advanced. He’d tossed her up onto his horse without a word of warning. He’d left her alone to find her way in an unknown wood.

  He struggled to believe she was blind. He’d witnessed her moving about inside the small outbuilding as she’d collected her things and not once had she missed a step. Never would he have imagined she couldn’t see, but a part of him was secretly relieved, else she might see the unwanted stirring of desire she’d awoken with her gratitude.

  Cal witnessed the string of emotions parading across Isla’s expressive face. From strength and determination with a firm uptilt of her chin, to the uncertainty that scored two faint lines between her brows when he’d spoken of what he would have done differently.

  She loathed being blind and was frightened because he knew. She’d battled to hide her fear by lowering her head, but at this moment, before his eyes, she’d found another level of determination far stronger than her concern for her secret. Her shoulders straightened and her fingers entwined at her waist, at ease. Her delicate chin rose once more to reveal her cheeks coloured a fiery red and her lips thinned and flattened. Any sign of her being afraid was gone, along with the alluring softness of her mouth.

  ‘My promise was to your father, nae you.’ His voice sounded firm, in control. He much preferred her anger than her fear.

  ‘Yer promise to my father concerns me.’

  ‘And it is you I will escort to Restenneth Priory.’

  Her fingers unlocked from about the others and her hands slid the length of her forearms to catch her elbows. Her teeth worried her bottom lip and Cal was certain she was fighting the urge to ask him why.

  ‘I made a promise to your father,’ he said quietly. ‘I am a man of my word.’

  Her teeth ceased gnawing her lip and she gave one slow nod that told him she was more confused than before.

  ‘But to ensure I fulfil my promise, I need your help.’

  ‘What can I possibly do to help?’ The two faint lines he’d seen before returned between her brows.

  ‘Tell me why you’re fleeing Aberdeen and who it is you’re running from.’

  He needed to know what he’d gotten himself into.

  * * *

  Isla sat on the fallen tree where Callum had led her by the elbow. She’d heard him sweep away the crumbling bark with his hand. He’d gone to fetch food from his sack so they could eat while she told him all he needed to know.

  His footfalls and the quiet rumble of his voice as he spoke to his mount told her he hadn’t gone far. She couldn’t hear what he said but she found the sound soothing and imagined his horse found it so too. He was fond of Mungo. Another reason she’d listened so closely, she was afraid to hear what she feared most. Silence.

  She didn’t know him, hadn’t known many men or women in all her nineteen years and those she had known had been before her tenth summer. The year her mother had died. The year they’d gone into mourning and part of her father had remained. She’d spoken to only a few since then and, aside from her father and her friend Sorcha, she found it hard to talk to or to trust anyone, and so had her father. But he’d trusted Callum.

  Footsteps drew near and the tension creeping up her spine into her shoulders ebbed. He hadn’t left her. Hadn’t pretended to fetch something to eat and then lead his mount quietly out of the wood. He stopped in front of her.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Aye.’ Depending on precisely what she worried over, her belly either ached with emptiness or felt so full it would burst.

  ‘Here, I have a loaf we can share.’

  She turned her hand palm up and accepted the bread, wondering why he hadn’t left. ‘My thanks.’

  He took two steps to her left and once again swept deadwood from the giant log with his hand and sat. Isla had torn off and eaten two chunks of the loaf, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘I am sorry for the loss of your father.’

  She hadn’t expected sympathy. Warmth sparked inside her chest and chased away a sliver of the coldness that had taken hold the day her father had left. She nodded. He was the first person to acknowledge her loss. Was he also the last to see him? ‘How did ye ken my father?’

  She heard him draw a long breath. ‘I was at the leper house caring for the sick.’

  Isla straightened and turned to face in his direction. ‘Are ye a priest?’ If he was, it would explain why he’d agreed to help her.

  ‘Nae.’ Moments stretched out and just as Isla gave up on learning more, the man beside her cleared his throat. ‘I was … searching for something.’

  In a leper house? He didn’t say more and Isla let the strangeness of his reply go. ‘Did he, did my father say anything?’ After years of distancing themselves to keep her father’s illness and her waning sight a secret, they’d only had each other’s company. Except on those rare occasions when Sorcha managed to escape her elderly companion’s rigid notice. She and her friend would lie outside, weather permitting, under the moon’s fading glow and giggle and sigh about the men who would fall in love with them and sweep them off their feet. But that was before Isla’s eyes had given out, and in her mind she’d planned a more sensible future for someone like her. And before Sorcha’s father, commander of Aberdeen’s guards, had betrothed his daughter to a man of his choosing.

  Silence stretched. The log seemed to lengthen and stretch with each passing moment as if widening the distance between them. Her heart thudded against the wall of her chest and it was then she understood how desperate she was to know her father had thought of her. How selfish she was. Forgive me, Father.

  ‘Aside from the promise …’

  Isla held her breath. He paused. What was he waiting for?

  ‘He said he was proud of his daughter.’

  A strange rushing noise, like water pouring into an empty pail awakened in Isla’s ears.

  ‘Your father said to tell you he loves you.’

  The rushing sound filled her head. Isla slowly turned away and wrapped her arms tight about her middle. She knew her father loved her, as she loved him, but knowing he wanted this stranger to tell her made the knowing more special, more painful. She hadn’t been there. He couldn’t tell her himself.

  Despite knowing her father would die soon after he’d left her, her shoulders shook and tears silently splashed from her eyes. They trailed over her cheeks to drop off the edge of her chin. She let them, but not for long. She wiped the moisture from her face with her skirts for the second time since she’d heard Callum’s voice.

  ‘Thank ye for telling me.’ She heard the odd tone, due to her nose feeling full and stuffy, but ignored it. If she wasn’t careful, the combination of her tears and her blindness might give him enough cause to abandon his promise.

  * * *

  Isla wept, shoulder-racking tears, without making a sound. The need to hold her and comfort her drove Callum to his feet. Away from her. The surge of desire that had swept through him from her earlier touch proved he couldn’t be trusted to hold her in his arms. Ashamed by his weakness, he turned his face away from where she suffered alone. He’d only repeated what her fa
ther had said. Words from a father he himself longed to hear. If he ever discovered who his parents were. He looked down and witnessed the neck of the water skin being strangled by his own hand.

  He forced himself to look at Isla, wondering if the telling had caused her more grief than not hearing her father’s words at all. He watched as she dried her tears on the hem of her skirt, straightened and said, ‘Thank ye for telling me.’

  Cal’s grip about the skin eased. Stepping closer, he unstoppered the skin and offered Isla a drink. ‘Water?’

  She nodded and though Cal thought it wise to avoid touching Isla, he guided her hand until her fingers curled about the neck of the leather skin. Her mouth tipped up slightly in a trembling smile and he pulled his hand away the instant she had a firm hold. She drank deeply, and for a moment Callum was mesmerised by the smooth flesh of her throat rippling as she swallowed.

  For mercy’s sake. He glanced to where Mungo feasted on grass shoots, telling himself he shouldn’t find the simple act of her drinking so alluring. Yet he did. More proof he was indeed his mother’s son.

  He looked back to find her lowering the skin and handing it back to him.

  ‘Now, what do ye need to know?’

  Careful not to brush her fingers with his own, he accepted the water, but before he quenched his own thirst, he said, ‘We dinnae have much time, but I need to know who you’re running from?’ He needed to understand what and who he was up against.

  She’d been about to take another bite from the brown loaf but lowered her hand back to her lap. ‘His name is Dalziel Somers.’ She inhaled deeply, as if saying his name robbed her of breath.

  ‘Was he one of the men who came to … who came for you last night?’ Had they come to kill her or take her?