Tarnished Honor Page 3

  And damn, but it was a fine thing to be back in Scotland. Daniel hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed hearing the lilt of his own brogue, or tasting a well-made haggis. The Brits didn’t care for haggis, a fact he’d never quite understood. When created by someone who knew what they were doing, it was delicious. And Scottish innkeepers, apparently, knew what they were doing. Or their wives did.

  There was no doubt about it, he’d probably gained a stone since crossing the border to his homeland. He’d never felt so vibrant and alive. And while he had enjoyed the occasional chat with a fellow countryman, he’d never enjoyed his own company more. There was something about being alone with one’s thoughts that was very peaceful. It allowed a man to explore his soul at leisure without interruptions. It allowed a man to process all that had happened in his life. To put everything in the place it belonged. Though he still had several days of travel, at most a week, he was already lamenting the journey’s end.

  After he passed the Kinclaven Crossroads, the landscape changed from fields and farms to orchards. The looming trees shaded the road in a lacy pattern; the scent of crisp apples filled the air, tempting Daniel to reach up and pluck one for a taste.

  He did not. That would be stealing and he was a man of honor.

  He pulled back on Hunnam’s reins when he spotted a white mare standing in the road. She was difficult to miss. Her lines were exquisite, her saddle and tack were the finest…but she had no rider. His brow wrinkled as he rode closer. No one would ever abandon such a fine horse. It was—

  “Blast.”

  The imprecation came from the leafy tree next to which the mare stood.

  Daniel glanced up; the boughs riffled. An apple fell to the ground.

  The mare whinnied and walked over to it, lipping up the treat.

  Another apple fell and the horse made short work of that one was well.

  “Stop eating them all,” the tree said. “Save some for me.”

  Daniel cleared his throat. It seemed prudent to make himself known. “Hullo?”

  The leaves rustled and a face peered out. Enormous blue-green eyes stared at him. Something flickered through them. Something that could have been construed as…guilt.

  Daniel frowned. “What are you doing up there?” he asked.

  The eyes blinked. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” He drummed his fingers on his saddle. “Are you stealing apples?”

  The chagrined expression on that elfin face was nearly whimsical. “Is this your orchard?”

  “Indeed it is not.”

  An entrancing, mischievous smile blossomed and the thief tossed him a fat red apple. “Then catch.”

  He did not. He did not catch. The apple bounced off his pate.

  “Oh really,” an amused voice echoed from above. “Let’s try again.”

  “Let’s not.”

  Too late. Another apple flew in his direction. He missed it again. It fell to the ground and Hunnam gobbled it up.

  “Sir, you are supposed to catch them.”

  “I doona care to abet you in your thievery—” Another missile flew. By the grace of God, he caught this one. “Please stop throwing stolen apples at me.” It was large and red and shiny and looked delicious. Aside from that, it smelled quite tantalizing. As he felt he had earned it, he polished it on his lapel and took a bite. Flavor exploded in his mouth and juice dribbled down his chin. They were excellent apples.

  The face disappeared, followed by more rustling. A satchel fell to the loam with a soft thud. Then a pair of feet appeared. Legs. Slim hips. Slender shoulders and then a mop of tousled black curls.

  A boy dropped to the ground with an oof. He looked up at Daniel, his head tipped saucily to the side, and then he grinned. It was a rakish grin. “Not stealing. Borrowing.”

  This he said with such conviction, Daniel had to struggle not to laugh. This was no laughing matter. Thieves ended up in the gaol. “Ah. Borrowing. Surely you won’t mind explaining that to him.” Daniel nodded to the distance, where a farmer was running through the trees toward them, arms flailing.

  The boy’s eyes widened. He picked up the satchel and hefted it over his shoulder. Then he bounded into his saddle and shot a glance back at Daniel. His grin was wicked as he urged his mount forward…leaving Daniel behind to explain to the farmer why his apples were missing.

  He paid for them. He had to. The evidence was still running down his chin. Once he had calmed the farmer with a collection of coins, he set his heels to Hunnam’s sides and continued on. He didn’t intend to catch up with the little thief, but he did. The boy was waiting for him at a turn in the road.

  “That was clever of you,” he said as he came abreast of the white mare.

  The boy shot him a curious glance. “Clever?”

  “Making me your accomplice.”

  “Ah.” The boy looked away, but Daniel saw his smile. “Are you blaming me for your lack of self-discipline?”

  Daniel bristled. “I’m verra self-disciplined.”

  “Are you?”

  He didn’t care for the way the urchin looked him up and down, as though his willpower were in question. He was a soldier. He was known for his iron will. The dubious appraisal nudged Daniel to say, “I was not the one pilfering apples.”

  “Borrowing.”

  “Right. And when, precisely, do you intend to return them?”

  His small chin jutted out. “I will.”

  “When?”

  The glance the boy shot Daniel might have been a wounded one. “When I can,” he said softly.

  For some reason, the words shafted through him and sliced deep. He remembered being a boy with no means. He remembered the hunger and the worry. He’d never stolen apples, but he might have. Which was probably why he muttered, “Don’t worry. I paid the farmer.”

  The boy sighed. “Thank you.” He peeped a look at Daniel. “Would you like some of them? It only seems right. Since you paid for them.” There was a hesitancy to the offer that made Daniel wonder if the apples were all that stood between this child and a hungry night. Which, in turn, made him feel like a louse.

  “Maybe later.” A grumble. He had no idea why it elicited a glowing smile.

  Good glory, he was large. Fia felt like a mite riding next to him. But despite how large he was, and intimidating in his manner, he didn’t frighten her, even when he scowled. Perhaps it was the indulgent tweak of his lips as he’d watched her harvest the apples. Or perhaps it was the fact that he’d paid for her sins. Or maybe it was just that look in his eye.

  Or the fact that he was riding a grey horse. Graeme had ridden a Grey.

  It might be naive to trust him simply because he seemed to be a military man and his horse so resembled those of her brother’s regiment—or because of his fascinating eyes—but Fia felt certain she could. And he had welcomed her into his company. Well, not welcomed so much as…tolerated.

  Granted, she hadn’t given him much choice—she’d simply followed him—but then she’d had little choice herself. She knew now what folly it was to travel alone, even pretending to be male. Even males were not safe alone in this world.

  It hadn’t taken long for her vulnerability to ring out. Hadn’t taken long for a predator to find her.

  Less than a day after leaving Perth, she’d been robbed. As she slept that night in the stable of the first inn she’d stayed at, a blackheart had stolen all her belongings. Her money, certainly, but more. He’d stripped her of the chess set Graeme had made for her.

  Even now, the memory of waking up to find her things gone—along with the young man with whom she’d shared the loft—sent her pulse rocketing through her. Aside from Horace’s visit, it had been the most horrifying experience of her life. It had made clear to her the danger of such a journey, and the folly of her naivety.

  Although, she forced herself to acknowledge, had she been traveling as a woman, it could have been much, much worse. As it was, it was bad enough. She was penniless and vulnerable and she had f
ar to go.

  Clearly, she needed a protector.

  And this man? He would do well.

  A pity he was so surly. As they rode, he was silent and any attempt at conversation was quashed by a scowl.

  Which was fine. It gave her plenty of time to study him.

  He was tall in the saddle, with strong thighs, and he rode with a military bearing she knew well. His face was raw and harsh, with sharp cheekbones and a straight blade of a nose, but his grey eyes softened his expression. They had a slumberous quality. It didn’t hurt that his lashes were long and lacy.

  The column of his neck was thick and there, traveling up and down the length of it, a manly knob. His chin, square and bold, was dusted with black bristles. His cheekbones were hard and high, his forehead broad. His shoulders were enormous, his chest massive. She imagined he was slabbed with muscle beneath his shirt. His lips were full, lush and beautifully formed. She could tell from the creases at the sides of them that he had smiled once, though he did not smile now.

  Ah, but it was those eyes that arrested her the most, steely grey and steady, fringed by those incongruously lacy lashes. He was, in a word, beautiful.

  But there was more to him than that. There was a familiarity. As though her soul saw and recognized his. She knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was safe with him. He would protect her.

  It was the way he carried himself, proud and humbled at the same time. The way he was steeped in a regimental honor. The tilt of his head. The ever-watching eyes.

  She knew the look.

  Graeme had had it.

  This man would keep her safe…whether he wanted to or not.

  Her heart told her she could trust him and after the debacle this journey had become, she needed someone she could trust. At the very least, she knew she couldn’t travel all alone.

  She decided to keep as close to him as she could. For safety. Nothing more than that, surely.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  His question, coming out of the blue as it did, after so much grumpy silence, startled her, but it took less than a second for her brain to come up with an answer. It was an easy one, the name Graeme used to call her when he tousled her hair or chucked her shoulder. “Pippin.” She glanced at him when he did not respond. “And you are?”

  There was no call for him to glower. But, at length, he responded with a grudging manner that made her wonder if his name was some national treasure, not to be easily given. “Daniel.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Daniel.”

  It was only the polite thing to say. There was no call for the sharp glance he shot her, as though her politesse annoyed him.

  “So where are you traveling to, Pippin?” he asked after they’d gone a while in silence.

  “Wick.”

  He made a grunting sound. “That is verra far indeed.”

  “Aye. It is.” A long way to go with no money. At least the thief who had robbed her blind had not stolen her horse. She would be horribly lost then. Aside from which, Chelsea would be devastated.

  “And where are you going?” she asked because it was the polite thing to do and because she was curious.

  “Inverness.” He said it in a slightly bitter tone that made her glance at him.

  “Why are you going to Inverness?”

  Something flickered through his eyes. She thought it might be annoyance, but it moved too quickly to be sure. “I have business there.”

  “What kind of business?”

  Oh. Definitely annoyance. She was surprised to discover it was not aimed at her. For once.

  “My uncle has perished.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” His perfect face crumpled into a perfect moue. “He was a bastard. But, apparently, he has left me something and I have been summoned to his solicitor’s office to collect it.”

  “What has he left you?” And what had this uncle done to deserve such vitriol?

  “I doona know.” He waved a hand and Fia couldn’t help but wonder at the beauty of that appendage too. His hands were large, well-formed and strong. “Hence this folly of a journey across half of Britain. I doona know why they couldna ha’ dropped a hint in the letter.”

  “Perhaps they worried you wouldna come if they told you.”

  His gaze pierced her and then, of all things, he barked a laugh. She liked the sound of it but judging from his expression, it surprised him. She had the sense he didn’t laugh. Not as often as he might have liked.

  “Why were you stealing apples?”

  “I was hungry.”

  “There was an inn several miles back. You could have eaten there.”

  She looked away. No. She couldn’t have eaten there. She didn’t have a penny to her name.

  “You doona have any money, do you, boy?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “Do you no’ realize how dangerous it is to travel with no money?”

  “I was robbed.”

  “Robbed?”

  “The blighter took all my coins and… everything I had.”

  He studied her a bit, then said, “And why are you going to Wick?”

  Fia scrutinized him right back with equal diligence. “I am running away.”

  “Running away? From what?”

  She set her chin. “A place I don’t want to be.”

  “I see.” From his tone, he probably did, although it was doubtful he could imagine the true circumstance. She had no intention of sharing that. “And you have people in Wick?”

  Och. How to answer that? “Naturally.” A lie always worked well.

  Daniel frowned. It was clear the boy was lying. About something. If not everything.

  It occurred to him the lad was far too young and far too naive to be traveling all alone. In the aftermath of the Peninsular War and the influx of destitute soldiers, the king’s roads had become dangerous places to be when one was all alone. Daniel had rubbed up against some unsavory sorts on this journey, though no one had dared accost him. Probably on account of the saber tied to his saddle. If that didn’t deter a villain, there was always the pistol he carried.

  This boy was armed with nothing but…apples.

  He didn’t like the sense of protectiveness that arose within him. That worm in his brain that whispered he had some kind of obligation to protect this urchin. He did not. And he had no desire for a traveling companion.

  He should simply tip his hat and say farewell to the boy before urging Hunnam into a gallop. He didn’t know why he resisted.

  It couldn’t be that the boy reminded him of himself. He’d methodically expunged any memory of that helpless, vulnerable child. But if he was being truthful, this waif did remind him of someone else. Of Lennox. Something about the tip of his head, the slant of his eyes, the unruly mop of curls. And Lennox had had the same foolish enthusiasm in the face of adventure.

  A trait that had gotten him killed.

  How annoying it was that the two twined in his mind. That he entertained the thought that by protecting this boy he could somehow make amends for failing Lennox.

  It was a ridiculous prospect.

  He could never make amends for failing Lennox.

  His soul wailed.

  Well hell. This conversation needed to end and end now.

  He set his teeth and put his heels to Hunnam’s side. His mount charged forward.

  To his annoyance, the mare followed.

  Chapter Four

  Daniel lifted the chicken leg and took a healthy bite. It was delicious. Savory. Rich and dripping with juice.

  He should enjoy it, but he couldn’t.

  The boy was watching him again and with a hungry expression Daniel found difficult to ignore. He resolved to ignore it.

  There were many hungry boys in Scotland, no doubt. It was not his duty to feed them all.

  Daniel turned to the left—angling his shoulder so the boy was behind him—and gazed out the window at the fields beyond the Clunie inn and focus
ed his attention on the gamboling lambs. The hawk soaring by. A cloud. Aye, there were so many things to reflect upon, other than the hungry boy on the bench behind him.

  Bedamned that he couldn’t evict the urchin’s face from his mind.

  It was probably the fragility of his features that were so haunting, the sunken cheeks or the pleading eyes, or the slight tremble to the chin. The slender shoulders maybe.

  He’d been a hungry boy once.

  No one had fed him.

  He glanced down at his plate, filled with potatoes and bread and chicken. He’d had a hearty breakfast today. He’d had apples. He had coin enough to pay for a soft bed to coddle his aching bones.

  Did he really need this?

  He glanced at the boy again, shivering by the fire, gaze skittering around the inn from one rowdy party to another, no doubt waiting for the innkeeper to shoo him away and back outside.

  He remembered a boy seeking refuge in an inn one night when he had no money to pay. He remembered being sent away with an empty belly. He remembered the feeling of harboring such aloneness. Such fear.

  All of a sudden, his appetite evaporated.

  With a snarl, he stood and carried his plate over and thrust it at the boy.

  That blue-green gaze skewered him. “Sir?” Hell. The child’s voice hadn’t even dropped yet.

  “Go on,” he snapped. “Eat it.”

  “Sir?” The boy’s attention flickered to the plate. His tongue dashed out. He swallowed.

  “Go on. Before I change my mind.”

  This time, the boy didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the plate and stuffed the slab of bread in his mouth and rolled his eyes as though it were manna from heaven. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbled through the food. “Thank you.”

  Daniel grunted and turned away, but that hard cold place in his chest warmed, just ever so slightly. The boy he had been was vindicated, if only a little. He lifted a finger at the innkeeper, silently ordering another meal. He was hungry after all. This one, he would probably eat in his rooms.