Kester nodded agreement and slipped away. Behind him, he heard Weesil ask, “Where’s the laird gone?” and Mook rumbled, “Mayhap he has to piss.”
But Pudge growled, “He’s bucking up the lad. ‘Twas some beautiful piping, ye have to admit.”
The firelight and the sounds of the men faded behind Kester as he followed first the murmurs of the babbling brook, and then the thuds of some large, possibly berserk animal crashed through the underbrush ahead.
His lips twitched. She could ride a horse, but Robena was shite in the woods.
He caught up to her in a little clearing, where she stood with her face tilted back as if admiring the stars. The moonlight glinted off the tears on her cheeks.
Kester didn’t say anything, but when he stopped beside her and took her hand, she clasped it as if it were a rope and she was drowning. Which, given she swam about as well as she crept through the woods, was saying a lot.
After a long while, Kester figured he ought to say something. “Ye’re going to win.”
She sniffed and closed her eyes. “I dinnae ken.”
“I do,” he vowed quietly. “Ye’re remarkable, Robena Oliphant.”
In so many ways.
Slowly, she turned to face him. Her lips curled slightly, sadly, mockingly. “I wish it were enough.”
I do as well, lass.
With a muttered curse, he pulled her into his arms, and claimed her lips with his. Her arms snaked around his back as he tugged on her hair to encourage her to open for him.
There in the moonlight, they kissed.
And it wasn’t enough, but it would have to be.
Here and now.
‘Twas all they had.