A/N: I thought it would be nice to publish this with two chapters since it is always great to be able to read a bit into a story when you first read it :) Hope you all enjoy! xx Mariah

In the dead of night, Jim's ears pricked up. There was someone moving surreptitiously about the camp. Clasping his dagger, he slowly sat up high enough to survey the clearing. Ned was supposed to be on lookout tonight, but as he sat up in bed and checked outside, he noticed the lad was sound asleep.

As he quickly began to dress, he realized that Melinda was no longer in his bed. He took a glance around the tent and noticed all of her things were missing as well and finished dressing as fast as he could. As he suspected, he gave a silent prayer of thanks to see Melinda moving quietly about the camp.

He wanted to be angry with her, wanted to blame her for the anguish that was coursing through him for having left him in the middle of the night after every bit of kindness he showed her, but couldn't fin her at fault.

He knew her reason for fleeing. She was only ensuring that she would be free to leave, in case he didn't allow her to go home. Yet he also worried that his father and his party of men would not be far down the road from where they were now, so he followed quietly.

When they were far enough away to be out of earshot of the men at his own camp, he spoke out to her quietly. "Melinda?" She jumped and whirled, and he instantly raised his hands up, palms facing forward. "I'm sorry—" he whispered and walked slowly toward her. "I am sorry, lass, I didna mean to frighten you."

"I suppose you are here to stop me?" She asked, eyes deadlocked on him.

He froze, seeing her clearly now in the moonlight. "So you are running?"

It was not a real question, for he already knew the answer was yes. She was wearing her traveling cloak, and the bundle she clutched clearly contained the belongings she had had on her when Ned had found her. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils flaring with deep breaths. She was pointed toward the road, in the opposite direction of the horses.

"And you are going to leave on foot?" His voice was flat.

She shrugged stiffly, tensed as though ready to bolt if he came near her. "I didn't want to risk waking anyone. I wanted to get as far as I could… I know my way through these woods better than you and your damn men do."

"Where are you headed?" he croaked his voice still thick with sleep.

Why? I promised you I would bring you home safely, he wanted to scream.

Her eyes were defiant, wide with alarm and determination. "Back to where I came from—the same place I've been trying to go since one of your men spotted me and took me captive," she muttered.

"I believe you and I both know that isna true. You canna just run off into the woods, Melinda. It isna safe for a lady like yourself," he said, trying not to come off too harsh.

"May I remind you, I am not a lady." She replied and her face was as set like stone. "I can and I will. I know my way around these woods."

"Melinda, I willna let you do this." He stepped closer to her.

"You do not own me, milord. I was under the impression that we had a deal. I held up my end. What are you going to do, clap me in irons now?" She was backing slowly away from him and his desperation was mounting with every pace.

"It's a wild country out there! Wolves and—brigands, and—" He was petrified, heartbroken, grasping at straws to keep her from vanishing. "At least–let me accompany you as I promised—I want to see you home safe! Is that too much to ask?" There was a sudden revelation through him that made him wish to reach for her hand. "Please, Melinda–"

There was only ice in her eyes and a few fat tears. "I don't need your protection, milord." She whispered. "I only wish to go home now."

Her words were like a knife in his gut. However, she did have the grace to look abashed when he finally looked away from her to conceal his own emotions.

"I see," he replied nodding.

"Jim… I did not mean to offend you or to tarnish your hospitality you have shared with me." He saw the muscles of her face and throat working furiously; even the regret and pain in her eyes. She took a step toward him and touched his arm. "Please forgive me, I only wanted to ease your pain by waiting until you were asleep."

He moved away from her touch, as he could no longer bear it, and skirted silently around the edge of the camp. She followed him, hissing out his name quietly, but he did not slow his pace until he reached the horses.

He located one of the extra horses and unhobbled it, leading it a hundred yards away from the others, picking up saddle and gear as he wanted. When she, at last, caught up with him, he plucked the bundle from her arms, fastening it perfunctorily to her saddle.

"Please, wait—" She said and her face was upturned to him, so white and so perfect it made the pain writhe within his chest.

He marshaled his features into his mask of impassivity and gave a cordial nod. "I wish you the best of fortune in your life, Melinda."

She reached for him, pleading. "Jim, listen, let me explain—"

"There is no need to explain or apologize," he said as he went around to gather some food, remembering how hungry she had been and that she had mentioned she had a family to return to. He gave her the parcel of food and pressed the smaller of his daggers into her hand. "Goodbye, Melinda. I will pray your journey home is safe."

And without a backward glance—though he wished to throw his arms around her and beg her, beg her not to leave, he knew she wouldn't stay. He turned on his heel back toward the fires, listening first to the silence, then the jingle of harness and the sound of hooves going quietly off into the night.

He didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. He lay awake, breaking apart, wrapped in a blanket that still held the scent of her hair and he could hear a whisper of her voice in his ear.

It was eight days later that Melinda rode into the courtyard in front of her family's farmhouse, just as dawn was breaking. She could have gotten there sooner, certainly, but she had kept off the main roads to the greatest extent possible, taking no chances of falling into the hands of strangers.

She'd had quite enough of that, and while her stint with one highland clan had turned out rather well, she had no desire to try her luck with another, let alone James' father. She had overheard the two men he had with him talking about another party not far from them that they would have been meeting.

And, despite the danger and the fatigue of the journey, her heart had been light and ready to burst for all eight of those days.

As foolish and romantic a notion as it perhaps was, Melinda had found herself many times on that hopeful, frantic journey wondering….was it fate that she had come to meet future Lord of Edinburgh, Jim Clancy the way she did? Could she honestly believe that mere odds should have allowed two people— so exquisitely attuned to one another, and yet separated by class, custom, and country—to run into one another in a dangerous, lonely universe?

But even as she had wondered endlessly in the long hours and days and nights through the woods, she knew it didn't matter. Jim would never care to remember her, and if he did she hardly thought it could be kind after how she had left him.

What mattered to her though was the burning in her chest as she swung down from the horse; the reminder of him singing out from her heart; that he was the only thing her bleary eyes wished she would see among the dozens of faces that gaped staring—glaring—at her from around the mist-laden courtyard. The stablehand came to grab her horse as she grabbed her package of food that Jim had given her.

"Mary, Michael, and Bride–MELINDA! Where are you been?"

It was not her sister as she had first thought, but the kitchen hand Delia barreling toward her from the kitchen dooryard, eyes wide…and wary. Nonetheless, the older woman had genuine affection in her voice as she clasped Melinda hard to her bread-and-herb-scented bosom.

"Oh, m'dear," Delia said, sniffing, and voice tremulous with emotion, "everyone has said—Och, child, they have said such terrible things—!"

She returned the embrace, feeling affection flood her heart, even at the same moment as fear and dead-panic. "What—what have they said about me, Delia?"

Forewarned was forearmed, after all.

Delia pulled back to stare searchingly up into her face, whispering each word so as not to be overheard by the many watchful onlookers. "That you had run away and left your sister to take over. That you had been killed in the woods by a boar or worse, caught hunting like your brother was and hung in Edinburgh…"

Well, all things considered, she supposed she couldn't expect any better gossip than that. She had been gone for quite a few days. She'd carefully formulated her story, rehearsed the details forward and back—all she could do was pray that people would buy it and not continue to gossip, but that hardly ever happened.

"I did not run away," she said, as confidently and reassuringly as she could, bending to kiss her warmly on the cheek. "I can assure you, it's all a dreadful misunderstanding. I nearly did get caught, but I am here in one piece now aren't I?"

Lord knew she was not a grand actress, but Delia gave an enormous exhale of relief, looked both flustered and pleased as she took both her hands in hers. "I did not wish to believe any of it, m'dear," Delia said, ushering her inside. "Such behavior, I could not—No, I did not myself believe it, child, but a lot of gossips has been spread."

"I understand perfectly. Truly, I do. I promise that I'll explain the truth as soon as possible, but I am quite tired and am in need of some rest. In the meantime," Melinda said and was literally swaying where she stood, "Might I—trouble you for a warm meal—and perhaps a basin of water to wash? Before I attract more attention and see my sister?"

The water would be pleasant, but it was food that she needed desperately. The cheese and bread Jim had given her along with the portions of meat were long gone when she finally got back home. She had saved that meat and hunted a few rabbits, along with finding what roots and berries she could forage along the roadside.

"Of course, of course!" Delia said, already guiding her toward the kitchens. "Sweet child, you are starved and half-frozen."

She followed her inside and down the familiar corridors to the kitchens. She ushered her—ignoring the stares and whispers from a few members of kitchen staff—into a small room behind the kitchen hearth that she hadn't been in since she was a child.

Less than a minute later, Melinda was gulping a mug of thick beef broth, while Delia and her teenage steward drew her a warm bath in a small wooden tub before the fire. While she had protested that cold water was perfectly sufficient, the warmth of it and the sweet scent of the chamomile soap were together as comforting and bracing as wine to her weary body.

Delia helped her wash and rinse her hair, then wrapped her in thick towels with a second mug of broth as she went up to her room and conjured a clean gown, shift, and corset for me, and then helped her herself to dress.

She continued sat with the older woman by the fire as she inhaled porridge with honey and a small loaf of bread with soft cheese. Delia's manner was still kind and sympathetic, but her eyes remained sharp and leery.

"So what did happen to you then, Melinda, if you don't mind me asking? I could tell there was some… whisker burns on your neck and thighs… even your stomach."

"I do mind you asking. That is my private business," she huffed in rebuttal, shaking her head and continuing to eat.

"If something happened, child—" Delia began.

"Nothing happened," she muttered. "That's enough on this subject."

"Oh, something definitely did if you have whisker burns, dear sister. Do you mind explaining to me if not to Mistress Delia?" Katherine's voice startled her, but then she glanced up and smiled at her.

Melinda was happy to see her sister after this bit of time apart. "Leave us," she said, glancing at the older woman who sat beside her. "I need to speak with my sister alone."

"Let us go upstairs then. Where there aren't any ears to listen in on us," Katherine said, holding her hand out to her. She stood up and embraced her tightly, feeling her younger sister laugh as she pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Why were you gone so long?"

"Must you get right to it?" She sighed, walking with her out of the kitchens.

"It is not like you to be gone for ten days when you said you would only be gone for three," Katherine reminded her, a worrying tone evident in her voice. "You aren't hurt are you?"

"Not physically," she whispered as they walked through the small hallway that led to the few rooms the farmhouse held. They entered hers and she stood in front of the hearth. "I have never felt this way before about someone I hardly know?"

"Is he the man responsible for those marks?" Her sister shut the bedroom door behind them and was a little startled as she felt Katherine's hands around her waist. She pulled her close and slowly, her baby sister's face dropped into her hair. "You can tell me."

"Yes, and I won't hear your judgment. It was either give myself up or lose my head for poaching." She explained simply not wanting to say much more.

He still plagued her mind. She could still hear his voice, like a whisper in the wind. Even though every bone in her body told her to leave, her heart hadn't wanted to. She had never found anyone outside of the people at her farmhouse and sister that were truly kind, let alone a man like Jim.

"You were caught? By whom?" She turned her and Melinda could see her sister's worry-ridden face more clearly. "Do you have any idea what they could still do to you? It doesn't matter what deal you made, they could still come after you."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't, Katherine. I don't think he will come looking for me," she whispered and lowered her eyes to the floor. "It hurt him when I left… I could tell. If he had wanted to hurt me, he would have never let me leave."

"Then for revenge… he could come after you for a scorned heart, Melinda." Katherine sighed, her jaw tight with a worried look on her face. "Do you truly trust this man? Do you even know his true name?"

"I do, and how does that matter? It doesn't change that he was the one who gave me a horse and food. He let me go," she explained, her emotions spilling out into freely roaming tears. "What else do I need to say? Katherine, I said I would not have your judgment and will not hear any more of it from you." She yelled, pushing her away and walking across the room to lay down on her bed. "I think it's best if you leave me. I should get some rest."

What a ridiculous fool she'd been, so be lulled into a prisoner's security when she was in Jim's arms. She should have never gotten caught in the first place.

"Melinda, I—"

"Go," she muttered. "Please. Just go."

Katherine quickly left the room without another word, but she knew better than to think she would stay away for long. Her sister was just as persistent as she could be when she wanted to.

Melinda felt further and further away from those she loved the most even though she had come home in one piece, but the more pressing matter of Jim and everything that had occurred between them weighed heavily on her until she finally fell asleep.

Jim Clancy shut his chamber door behind him, leaning against its cool wood, and cursed.

"Damn," he muttered, with no heed to the pain in his shoulder. He was coming up to twenty-four years of age, but he had lived twelve lifetimes' worth of pain in those short years; what bothered his muscle was nothing to what ate at his heart.

Even in the weeks after, he could still imagine the feel of her hair and the smell of her presence. He could still see the shine of Melinda's tears against the milky pearl of her cheeks that night when they last parted, the way her hair curled around her neck and just touched her shoulder and catching every glint of light from the fire, sable and dark water and oak, hints of gold that echo her eyes.

"Damn," he said again, his cock half-hard under his kilt.

She's a contrary woman, with a mouth as foul as any man. Others may take offense, but he liked that about her. He liked the brisk attention to detail, the surly note to her eyes and voice when he had tried to give her an order. Her touch was firm but soothing, and her face –

A glass face, he thought as he broods against the door, ignoring the ache in his arm. He thought to hear her breathe in the deep throes of sleep. She had no face for lies. A beautiful woman was often a liar, but not this one.

Not his Melinda.

And if his father ever did grab hold of her as he had promised to, she would not survive the day. It had been nearly three months since he had let her go that fateful night, and his father still had not given up on finding all of the poaching hunters in their woods, especially the witch his brother Daniel wouldn't quit raving about.

He had wanted to kill his brother for that. Even after buying him a pint of whiskey to keep quiet, he had spilled his guts the moment they had arrived home. He had expected that more out of the lad Ned than his own blood, but Daniel had done it all the same.

"You only let her go because she seduced you… an English witch!" Daniel had argued with him afterward, spitting on the ground with rage. "A Sassenach, brother! How could you think she was anything else? We should have taken her life the moment she was thrown in front of you."

His arm, which rested at his side, twitched with anger. He curled his fingers into a fist against his hip. Perhaps he should go on his own to find her. To keep her safe from his father. He had promised Melinda the night he met her that no harm would ever come to her, and he meant it. Why he felt the urge to make such a vow, to a woman he knew nothing of at the time, he could not know even now why he had truly spared her. Maybe it was that he was too kind of heart, but he did not see a fit reason to kill a person for wanting to feed their family.

His eyes shut again in thought and the castle air was cool, the spring sunlight of the day no match for lingering winter chill at night. Yes, he knew her. What he knew of her, he could not place or name; but this woman, Melinda, his beautiful little outlaw– he knew her.

In the end, he slept for a time, but woke at dawn and rode on his own search for the woman he loved. He had to find her before his father had the chance to.