Free Becca St.John by Seonaid

ran to him. “Och, no, never. I’ve known shame and that wasna’ it.” And she’d clung to him as if she’d never see him again.
    Another confirmation, she would still say good-bye. And he’d not had a chance to remind her of what they had together because, in his anger, his frustration, he’d woken Deian.
    “Want to hunt, lad? We’re needin’ some fresh meat.” And he glared at Seonaid. Let her feel what it was like to be on her own.
    Two days ago that was. They’d wounded a deer, tracked it. Deian made the final kill. Together they gutted the animal, skinned it, headed back to the camp, and that’s when they saw the farmhouse. An old man and his wife, who offered the little they had and begged them to stay, to have the comfort of their bed.
    So they’d traded the venison for a bit of oats and stayed for the night, leaving at daylight. Even then, the old couple pushed him to a promise. They were to take some of the venison to the couple’s cousins, who lived halfway between Eriboll and them.
    “It’s not far off your path,” the old woman explained, “And they’ll treat you well.”
    So the next night, they stayed at another cottage. And with every night apart, he knew Seonaid’s plan to go off on her own would grow stronger. And now, here they were with Eriboll in sight, when they’d be in a town.
    Another night apart, fearing Seonaid would not be there when they got back to the camp.
    He finally got a taste of her and he was back to starving. How was he to woo her with his body when they weren’t even near each other of a night?
    Worse, she was right. Even the cottagers, living as remote as they did, asked about Glen Toric and the renegades and the renegade’s sister and her lad born of incest.
    Word spread, people knew; but what they knew was second, third, even fourth hand. They wanted the tales from someone who had been there.
    Padraig knew the rules of hospitality, his role as guest, to break the tedium of lives with tales of the clan. So he told of the confrontation with the Gunns and fed them with the capture of the renegades, the battle, the punishment, and the executions.
    Every night apart, his heart remained with Seonaid, who they left alone with the horses, off in the hills where anything could happen. And his anger grew, that she was right and he didn’t know what to do about it.
    Deian pushed his way between the adults, jolting Padraig’s attention back to the bluff, with Seonaid and the lad looking over the village.
    “Look, Ma,” the lad pointed, “there’s a boat below, on the beach, and people.”
    “Where?” Padraig asked, even as he urged Seonaid and Deian to crouch down.
    Sure enough, there was a long narrow boat pulled onto the shore. Men were loading it, but with what? There were no houses, no storage barns, just a gravelly beach.
    “Trouble?” Seonaid asked.
    “Aye. If that ship is trying to hide, it’s doin’ a damn good job of it.”
    “It’s hiding on purpose?”
    “I’ve no way of knowing that, but see the jut of land there? It would block the boat from view of the town.”
    “Ma,” Deian interrupted. “They have a picture of a red lady on the front of their boat, like the men we hid from.”
    “He’s right, Padraig. I think that’s the same boat.”
    The wind stole Seonaid’s cap. She clambered after it, only to stop. “No,” she said, as she shook her head. “It can’t be.”
    “What?” Padraig asked.
    “There, south and to the west, just coming over that rise. I think they have prisoners, three, tethered to one another. I canna’ tell, but it looks to be women.”
    “Shite!” Padraig cursed. “Shite, shite, shite.” He pushed back, away from the edge and rose, paced, threw his own cap to the ground. “Come on. I’ve got to get you away from here.”
    “What are they doing?” she asked, but he turned away to grab his cap and hers. “Padraig!” she snapped. “Why are they taking people?”
    “You donna’ want to