At last Fiona appeared, her gaze defiant as she approached him, no doubt to repeat what she’d declared the night before. But Brogan spoke before she could.
“As I said last night, we’re no’ to part yet. We’ll go with ye, and then ye can take us to the prince.”
She looked ready to argue with him, but then nodded, saying nothing as she brushed past him and mounted her horse in one well-practiced and graceful move. Brogan swallowed hard, trying to calm the way his heart pounded when he watched her, and decided to take that as her agreement. They bid the men at Ruthven farewell and headed down the road after Fiona. Hours passed, and when they stopped to stretch and rest the horses, still they didn’t speak.
When they bypassed the road that led to Dòchas, Brogan stopped her with his hands on her reins, his fingers brushing hers. “Where are ye leading us?”
Fiona frowned down at his hands, her face coloring slightly. “I need to find my friend.”
“What of your messages?” He pulled his hand away.
“I can deliver them along the way. And Annie…” She shook her head, swiped at a stray lock of hair that came over her eyes. “She’s got no walls to protect her and a heart that willna allow her to abandon anyone in need. She needs to know about the dragoons’ plans, as well.”
Annie sounded a whole lot like Fiona.
“I need to make certain she’s safe.” She bit her lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “If she was taking the wounded from the battlefield, then my guess is she’s hiding them while they heal. She’ll no’ be far from there, right in the center of the dragoons.”
Brogan’s blood ran cold as ice, all thoughts of her lips gone in that sobering moment. “Why would she do that?”
“She’s a healer. She’d no’ leave a man in need.”
“She could be dead already.” Brogan instantly regretted saying that.
“Dinna say such,” Fiona exploded, her gaze full of fire. If she’d had a pistol in her hand, he was certain a bullet would have pierced his heart. “Dinna ever say such again.”
Brogan nodded, holding his hands up, truly regretting letting his thoughts slip so easily past his tongue. Normally he wasn’t one to speak much, but around her, he seemed to be losing some of his inhibitions. “My apologies.”
“Where is your hope?”
His frown deepened. “I’ve seen enough to know hope helps no one.”
“Without hope, ye’d no’ be standing where ye are, Grant. I warrant ye’ll want to change that line of thinking before this war is through. Hope is what gets us from point A to point B, arriving alive.”
He gave a swift shake of his head. “That is called strategy.”
“And dinna all soldiers hope their strategy works?”
The lass had a point there.
“I fulfilled my duty to ye,” she continued, a distant coldness coming into her voice that made him uneasy. “Ye know where the prince may be. Go. Leave me to what I have to do. I dinna need a nursemaid.”
“Are ye insinuating that I am a nursemaid?”
Her chin notched up, but she said nothing. Didn’t matter, the expression on her face said it all, and he wished to walk back time.
“Ye are,” he mused.
The men snickered, and Brogan turned to glower at them all. “I go with ye because ye need a protector.”
“And what makes ye think it is ye who should take up the mantle? Go.” She waved at him. “I release ye from whatever sense of duty and honor plagues ye. And I assure ye that I’ve been at this a lot longer than ye have.”
Brogan grunted his frustration and decided to be honest with her, again disregarding his own judgment. “I made a promise to Murray.”
“What promise?” Suspicion flashed in her eyes.
“Ye’re the prince’s messenger. Ye hold the ring. Ye may be the only one left.”
“And so Murray has ordered ye to be my guardian?”
“He has asked me to make certain ye get to the prince alive. And if that means we have to traipse after ye, then so be it.”
Agitation came off the lass in waves. Her teeth were bared, and at any minute he expected to bear the brunt of her ire.
When she said nothing, he fanned out his arm. “If that means I have to follow ye around as ye deliver messages afore we go to the prince together, so be it. Lead the way to your friend.”
“Dinna speak to me, then. At all.” She seethed. “I dinna want to know ye’re there.”
“Dinna be cross,” Brogan said. “’Tis for the best.”
But perhaps that was not the right thing to say, for he was fairly certain he saw smoke coming out of her ears.
“Ye dinna get to tell me what is best for me.” She turned and urged her mount into a gallop.
Brogan stared, incredulous, at his men who all looked as though the woman had taken their sweets and crumpled them on the ground.
“Good luck with that,” Sorley said with a long drawn-out sigh as if he’d dealt with something similar before.
Brogan was fairly certain he was going to need a lot more than luck.
* * *
Brogan had lost her.
And this time it was real.
He turned in a heart-pounding circle, regretting ever having trusted a MacBean. It would seem even a war where they were on the same side wouldn’t be enough to keep them fighting together.
At some point when they’d stopped to rest, the lass had managed to mount her horse and ride off without any of them noticing. How in the bloody hell was that possible? He’d been keeping his eye on her like a hawk, and in an instant, perhaps when he blinked, she’d disappeared.
Anger sliced through him, disappointment too. Fiona had abandoned not only him, but the men and their mission of returning to the prince. Was this a sign she wasn’t true to the rebel cause?
“Where the hell did she go?” he growled.
The men stared at him with similar shock and disbelief. All he knew was she wanted to go back to the battlefield and find her friend. A place he’d agreed to accompany her. The stubborn fool could be anywhere, and the likelihood of her being captured was extremely high. Especially alone. Dragoons were like hungry wolves on the hunt for anything or anyone they could maim.
Frustration gave way to something akin to dread, but he didn’t want to call it that, for to do so would be to admit he was actually worried about her. Which he shouldn’t be. Couldn’t be. They were together on this mission and not by choice but by obligation. Which was why he needed to pummel any notions of disappointment back into oblivion.