Page 34 of Highlander’s Quest of Desire

They waved one last goodbye to Beatrice, Jimmy, and the inn then they were galloping down the road. To Elspeth it seemed that Bruce sped on ahead of her to avoid meeting her eye. She wanted to reassure him that she had no designs on him. If he loved another, she wouldn’t stand in the way of their union no matter how much it hurt her.

Domnhall had been right then. All women wanted a husband, a castle, and children to fill it with. How had her brother known her desires better than she had? To be fair, she had no notion of marriage and children until Bruce had played with her hair by the campfire near Loch Lomond. It was as if he had pulled on her strand of hair and a curtain had fallen from her eyes. She had felt desirable. Love felt only a short distance away; she just had to stretch her hand and receive it.

After an hour on the road, Elspeth called for Bruce to stop. “Please,” she said. “I need water.”

“Drink from yer waterskin,” he motioned to the skin hanging from her saddle. He still didn’t look at her.

“I also need to talk to you,” she said, walking Willow closer to Bruce’s horse.

“There’s naught to talk about,” Bruce said gruffly, pulling at his horse’s reins to turn it back around.

“I believe there is,” she insisted, leaning forward, and taking the reins from him. He looked surprised that she had managed a feat such as that. “What happened last night was a mistake.”

“Aye it was!” Bruce snapped, his brown eyes finally meeting hers, and they were blazing. “I told ye we should nae take the room. I insisted we go on to Falkirk, but ye had to have yer way.”

“Yer saying it was my fault?” Elspeth was incensed. “I was nae the one who kissed ye!”

“I didnae mean to kiss ye!”

“Aye, ye’ve made that quite plain. Donae worry, Laird Grant. I willnae force ye down the aisle. I promised I wouldnae come between ye and the woman ye love. And a Buchan always keeps their promises.”

“Buchan’s never make promises because they ken they cannae keep ‘em.” Bruce was fuming. “Yer brother is a cowardly example of it!”

“And the Grants are insufferable, ungrateful, and drowning in their sense of self-importance!” Elspeth shot back, wanting to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. “Yer so blinded by yer quest and yer desires that ye cannae see all the people ye crush underneath ye as ye leave them behind.”

“Then I donnae understand what ye are still doing here,” Bruce said. “Ye can leave. Return to yer home where people can walk all over ye and yer brother will make nary a peep in protest. Ye donnae need my protection anymore.”

“Protection?” Elspeth scoffed. “Like ye were there to protect me when the soldiers under Conic Hill tried to take advantage of a lone woman on the road. Ye were nae concerned for my safety then, nor ever after, so donnae pretend ye care for what happens to me.”

“What soldiers?” Bruce asked, his face losing the rage to be replaced with a gravity Elspeth found disconcerting. “What soldiers, Elspeth?”

But Elspeth refused to engage. She whipped the reins back at Bruce who flinched as they hit him on the chest. She took the lead now, galloping ahead so Bruce wouldn’t see her tears. He was cruel, and she had taken such pains to reassure him and alleviate his worries. More fool she.

“Elspeth!” Bruce called after her, but she leaned forward and urged Willow to go faster. The wind whipped across her face, drying the tear tracks on her face. Her hair came unbound from its confines and obscured her vision. She struggled to get hair out of her eyes and screamed.

She pulled at Willow’s reins to bring her to a halt.

A wall of men on horseback blocked the road. They weren’t English soldiers, but they were unrecognizable as they wore no colors. Their black hoods were pulled up, obscuring their faces.

Bruce came to a halt beside her. He observed the men too.

“Who are ye?” Bruce asked. “Let us pass!”

The men didn’t reply. Elspeth had a bad feeling about them. They were not the friendly Scottish countrymen they had met at the inn. These were sinister men with malicious intentions.

“Bruce,” she whispered. “I fear they might be brigands.”

She could see that Bruce already had his hand on his sword hilt. If the men attacked he would fight them. But Elspeth didn’t want it to come to that. They numbered six, and Bruce was one. The odds were not in their favor. And no matter how angry she was at him, she didn’t want to see Bruce hurt.

“What do ye want?” she asked.

“Ye.” The man in the middle said. He was obviously their leader. “Hand us the lass, and ye may go yer way,” he said to Bruce.

“Yer gonna have to pry her from my dead fingers,” Bruce shot back, unsheathing his sword. The men in front of them did the same. The sound of metal scraping against scabbard grated on Elspeth’s taut nerves.

“Stop!” Elspeth yelled. “Bruce, ye cannae fight them. They are greater in number.”

“That doesnae matter. I shallnae let them take ye.”