Still, he was cross with himself. ’Twas the first day of his duties in guarding Lady Esme, and already he had neglected her. But Callum had departed Ember Hall only this morning. Surely word would not have spread about the lady’s unprotected status?
He must hope and pray that it had not.
He reined in the horse as it crested the hill, allowing his gaze to roam over the landscape of his childhood.
A landscape that was so much altered it caused him actual, physical pain.
The Gowen farm had once nestled in a wooded valley, smoke billowing from the chimney, chickens clucking in the yard. Joe Gowen was an honest farmer, up toiling before daybreak and not hanging up his tools till long after sunset. His wife raisedfive daughters without ever losing the gleam of love and light in her eyes. Clara was the eldest, born the same year as Callum. Both sets of parents had approved of the match between them. Even when Callum went to serve Rory Baine at Egremont House, there was no question that he and Clara would one day marry.
Adam had visited the farm whenever he had a day free. Which was not often.
“All of this will be yours, one day,” Joe Gowen would tell him.
Adam had never planned to spend so long in the service of Rory Baine. He was raised a farmer’s lad and longed to swap his broadsword for a hoe. His father’s lands had been reclaimed by the estate upon his death, but Adam hoped to earn them back.
More than a dozen summers later, Adam’s heart beat hollowly in his chest as he looked down upon the smoke-blackened ruins of the once foursquare farmhouse.
The whole Gowen family had been slaughtered whilst he, unaware, polished swords in the armory and dreamed of a future that would never be.
Egremont House was less than an hour’s ride from here. He knew the way like the back of his hand. If someone had raised the alarm, he might have been able to offer assistance. Alas, the Gowens had neither the coin nor the will to hire guards. Not even after the Battle of Bannockburn, when retaliatory Scottish raiding parties had grown indiscriminate in these parts.
Although Adam had never thought this raid was indiscriminate.
The Gowen’s were recognized as hard workers; their lands known to be fertile. The harvest had only recently been brought in.
Adam could not think that any of this was a coincidence.
As if sensing his distress, his horse enacted a side-stepping dance, flinging his head up and down.
“Steady there,” Adam soothed him.
But his own eyes were glassy with tears as fresh memories assaulted him. Up ahead was the oak tree, where he and Clara used to meet. Beneath its boughs they had exchanged their youthful promises, and he had stolen kisses from her willing lips.
That and more besides.
They had been but a sennight from their wedding day.
Enough.
There was a reason he kept such memories firmly locked inside his heart. Emotion had no place in the life of a warrior.
Gritting his teeth, Adam turned the horse around and pointed him back toward Ember Hall. He would return to his duties and not neglect them again.
The September sun was beginning to descend behind the hills as he turned into the gates of the hall. The guards recognized him and stood aside to allow him through without a word. He trotted up the well-trodden path, feeling the familiar ache in his legs and back. In all his five and thirty summers, he had never felt so weary.
The horse knew well which stable belonged to him. Adam was obliged to dismount rapidly, before the horse carried him all the way inside. A passing stable lad laughed at his misfortune.
“He’ll be wanting his oats,” the lad opined. “Shall I take him from you, sir?”
“Nay, do not trouble yourself. I shall see to my own horse.” Adam smiled to take the sting from his words. It was nice to hear the accent of his childhood, even though he had grown well used to the highland brogue spoken at Kielder Castle.
He led the horse into a good-sized, well-swept stable and removed the saddle and bridle, calculating how long it was since he last stepped on English soil.
Those painful months immediately after Clara’s death were all a blur to him. Lady Elizabeth, Callum’s sweet-naturedmother, was taken from them at a similar time, leaving Adam with no one to turn to.
No one but Rory Baine, who was determined to return to the highlands.
They had left Egremont House some four and ten summers since. At first, Adam had journeyed north with the full intention of taking revenge for Clara’s death. Rory’s relentless insistence on training meant he was battle-ready and strong. His body was fit and his blood burned for vengeance. But the Scots, he soon learned, were just normal people going about their normal lives. He could hardly butcher an innkeeper and call it retribution. Before he could turn about, they were at Kielder Castle, where Adam had remained ever since.
