“So am I. We wasted so many days where I could have had ye naked,” she teased.
But this was where he got serious. “We canna,” he said, regret filling his voice. “As much as I want to, we have to hold back, else the promises we made to each other about parting when this is over will be voided.”
A flicker of disappointment skittered over her features. Her eyes shuttered, lashes touching her cheeks, before she glanced back up at him with a new, distant expression he didn’t like. A sour taste formed on his tongue, and he wanted to take back his words and instead pull her into his arms. To say Never mind. To say what he really felt.
“Och, well,” she said with a smile he knew wasn’t genuine. Her fingers disappeared from his to wave nonchalantly in the air as though he’d told her there was only porridge for supper instead of stew. “Ye know I was just teasing. Besides, kissing would distract from the mission.” She dismissed the ideas of kissing and being naked, of pleasure, as easily as one might swat away an annoying fly.
“The men will be eager to see ye,” Brogan said, not addressing the situation at all, because if he didn’t then he wouldn’t have to lie and say he didn’t want her. For a major lie it was, and probably one he’d regret even insinuating for the rest of his days.
“And I am eager to see them.”
“Where is Milla?”
“She took a liking to the prince and he asked for her to remain with him.”
Brogan frowned. She’d just abandoned the dog—again?
“I jest.” She laughed. “She’s out back eating scraps the cook has given her. She’s quite a little hussy, that Milla, worming her way into every man’s heart.”
“She takes after her mistress, then,” Brogan said.
Fiona pressed her hand to her heart, fluttering her lashes. “Ye canna mean me.”
“Och, look around ye. Everyone hangs on your words as though honey dripped from your lips.” Why did he have to say that, for it made him think of licking sticky, sweet fluid from her lips, and that only made him want to drip it all over her body and lick every inch of her, savor every nook and cranny.
“Ye’re wicked, Brogan. Dinna think I canna see what is going on in your mind. I know ye well.” Though she teased, he didn’t miss the fleeting hurt look in her eyes.
He grinned and winked, trying to make light of the situation, but before he could reply, Sorley was pounding him on the back. “Ye’re no’ going to hog our sister all to yourself, are ye? The rest of us would like to hear of her adventures too.”
“I can promise my adventures were no’ as exciting as some might think,” Fiona said with a laugh.
“Then those people should stop thinking and start listening.” Sorley tapped Brogan’s temple. “Is that no’ right, oh fearless leader?”
“Aye.” He was spot-on.
They really were a family. How could he ever think of breaking them all apart? And yet he would.
Fifteen
At night she dreamed of him. And during the day when they followed in the prince’s wake, she wished they were back in that tiny tavern room where the world had melted away and it was just the two of them. Before the letters. Before the separation. Before he’d felt compelled to tell her they would not be together in the future.
Hours melted into days, and days melted into weeks. They barely slept as they followed the prince from one hideout to the next. Learning sometimes too late that the dragoons were on their heels and then having to fend them off as the prince escaped. This existence was not sustainable. She knew that. She’d been trained to run as she delivered messages, but while there had always been a threat of running into the enemy, she had never known the enemy was specifically chasing her, trying to rid the country of her existence.
Flora MacDonald and a few of her entourage had parted ways with the prince on Skye a fortnight prior, and finally now the prince and his men and Fiona made their way back to the mainland to Mallaig, but there they were met with more of the same. Running, hiding.
At one point in the night, Fiona and the prince’s men were able to sneak past the dragoons in a glen, and once they made it past, the prince took off at a gallop on his mount, narrowly missing the precipice of a cliff and diving head over heels. Fiona woke every morning thanking the heavens they were still alive, and went to bed each night wishing she were curled in Brogan’s embrace.
Rather than pushing her away with his words, he’d seemed to awaken something inside her that needed him more than ever.
Each morning over whatever meal they were able to scrounge, the prince talked of his French ships and how there would be one waiting for him in Poolewe, if they could only just get there. However, they were informed by their host in Glenshiel that the ship was no longer there. By now, Fiona had lost track of how many stops they’d made or even what day it was.
“How in the hell am I going to get away from these godforsaken dragoons without my ship?” the prince bellowed. “We cannot continue to go on this way. I’m a prince of the blood. I am not a criminal. Scotland was meant to be mine!”
He was right; it’d been three weeks since they’d signaled to him on his little boat to come into the creek and hide from the dragoons. Every man in the party, and Fiona, too, had blisters on their feet the size of coins. Some of their blisters had blisters, and even Milla, who loved a good run, was more often than not panting and lying about with exhaustion.
It was all too much. If they kept at this pace, they would all collapse and the entire rebellion would be shattered.
“We’ll go to my caves,” Brogan said calmly, the voice of reason. “There ye can rest in peace with a stream running by, and we’ll make the cave fit as a royal palace for ye.” This last part he said partly jesting, Fiona could tell, but it helped to perk up the prince a bit from his despair. “While there, we’ll try to find out what has happened to your ship.”
And so at last with a safe destination in mind where they might be able to rest for several days, they trekked their way to Glenmoriston and the caves where Fiona had first kissed Brogan.
True to his word, Brogan had supplies gathered, pillows, blankets, and even a feast, so that the prince could feel his royal blood pumping. But Fiona knew that it was about more than that. Brogan did it for his men, and for the prince’s few men too. A little bit of revelry in a time when they all felt the noose tightening around their necks.
And so she imbibed the cider and ate the cheese, the cold chicken, and berry tarts.
Sorley, Fin, and one of the prince’s men volunteered to go scouting for the prince’s ship while the rest of them remained with Prince Charles, entertaining him with cards and conversation, even a hunt.