“I do no’ ken. But I am sure had we stayed together he would still be alive now. You always looked after us, Master Finnan, always.”
Finnan heard Jeannie say again, “Where were you when Geordie needed you in Dumfries?” He had been turning himself into a hare here. One more thing for which he could feel guilt.
He became distracted from his thoughts when the cottage door opened and Jeannie emerged, barely visible in the dim light. She carried a white cloth in her hands and did not so much as glance at the guards along the way before she walked round the side of the cottage. There she paused and flapped the cloth the way a woman might shake away crumbs from a table covering after a meal.
Finnan’s eyes narrowed. A signal? He watched as she marched deliberately to the rear of the tiny building and spread the cloth over the prickle bushes. Then she went inside and shut the door firmly.
The dark was now almost complete. Even in the west the light sank into a mere haze that reflected off the burn. Had he not seen them, he would not know the guards were there on the rise.
Nor would they be able to see him very easily.
“Jeannie needs to speak with me,” he told Danny softly. And he to her.
“But ’tis too dangerous, surely.”
Finnan drew himself up. “The Avries have overstepped themselves this time. Let them deal with the spirit of vengeance.”
****
Finnan held himself still as the trees beneath which he had paused, the dirk clutched between his teeth. He thought about the night, listened for the way the breeze bent the gorse and rough grass. He imagined himself invisible, even his breath suspended.
He heard the two guards speaking to one another in low voices, never suspecting they were overheard.
“Damned fine-looking woman,” one of them murmured with a lecherous undertone. “And we are not getting paid enough to stand out here all night when there are warm women inside.”
His only reply came as a grunt from the second man.
“’Tis my opinion this fellow they are chasing will never be caught, by any road. He is a phantom. How long have we been after him now?”
Finnan bared his teeth around the blade in a grim smile.
“No phantom, he,” the second man said, “but a turncoat. Took pay to kill his own kind at Culloden.”
The first man ignored that opinion. “You keep watch here; I am going to see if I can get inside yon cottage.”
“To what purpose? Those are respectable women.”
“And maybe lonely. I have a flask here. Do you really want to spend all the night out on this trail?”
The second man never answered. Finnan had moved, silent as the shadow he imagined, and muffled the fellow from behind with an arm about his throat. The dirk swung up in a short vicious movement, and Finnan lowered his victim softly to the ground.
One taken care of, but he had to silence the second man also. He saw the fellow swing round with the gleam of wide eyes alerted by instinct.
“Donald?”
Finnan leaped for him out of the deeper darkness and bore him over backward before he could draw his sword. The dirk, already well-wetted, did its work again, and Finnan breathed a fierce prayer of gratitude before dragging both men off the trail into the gorse.
His arm, stiff and enflamed, screamed at him as he wiped his dirk on the grass and returned it to his boot.
The cottage door opened and light spilled out. He saw Jeannie’s golden head, and his heart leaped disconcertingly. By all that was holy, he had missed her. And not just her kisses.
Still silent, he started up the trail to her gate. He felt it the instant she caught sight of and recognized him. She hurtled through her doorway, leaving the brightness behind.
They met at the gate, and she threw herself into his arms. Her hands caught at him and his, equally eager, caressed her hips even as he drew her nearer.
She did not speak, not in words. Instead she reached for him with her lips, bestowed small, desperate kisses on his mouth, his cheek, his chin. He felt her tremble.
“There now, lass,” he murmured, trying to tell himself he remained unaffected by the greeting even as his heart pounded and he went lightheaded.
