A Scotsman's Promise

Chapter 19

A sound pierced the depth of Cara's exhausted slumber. A disoriented fog clouded her brain as it was brought from deep sleep into a semi-conscious doze. She listened for the unfamiliar sound that had disturbed her. At first she could hear nothing but the soft rain and she began to drift off again. Then it came again, a thunderous rumbling coming from somewhere on the ground near by. Cara awoke from the last verge of sleep, her eyes opening and immediately searching for the noise.

The three men she shared the temporary canvas shelter with were crammed in the end of it opposite the side she had curled up in. It was pitch dark outside the oiled-cloth roof Will was closest to her, sleeping peacefully, his identity given away by his auburn hair shining like copper in the firelight. Calen was next to him, his back to her, almost invisible, his black hair blending in to the darkness. Last was Christian, lying on his back, mouth wide open. As she observed, his chest rose and fell, but what came out of his mouth was not breathing at all. He growled, the ground seeming to vibrate because of it's ferocity.

Even as she listened, she could not believe that the sound she heard was coming from a sleeping man. His snoring was so loud that Cara wondered how the other men laying near him could possibly sleep through the din.

Micara sat up, pulling her blanket around her shoulders to ward off the damp night air. Quietly as she could, she moved closer to the fire. As she settled down close as possible to the fire while still remaining under the tent canopy, Calen stirred. He grunted as he shifted to his other side. Cara watched as he pressed his hands over his ears. He was not as oblivious to Christian's snoring as she had first thought. He kept his eyes closed tightly, probably trying to salvage what remained of the night's sleep. Cara wondered if he would be successful. Christian was his best friend, so it was not likely to be the first time Calen had had to deal with the noise.

He relaxed slightly, and Cara envied the ease in which he seemed to block out Christian's snoring. She assumed he had dozed off, so she was surprised when he let out a short growl, said something angrily in a foreign language, and took his hands from his ears. 

Micara clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. Calen's eyes sprang open at the sound of her movements, his expression one of surprise at finding her there.

"Miss DeMonae," he said, propping himself up on his elbows, "I did not expect ye ta be awake."

His voice had a drowsy growl to it that she found strangely appealing. His accent, more pronounced than usual, caressed the vowels, particularly those in her name, giving them a sound of his own unique influence.

He crawled from his blankets, moving to the fireside as well.

"I must apologize for the language," he said once he was seated, "I did not think t'would reach yer ears."

Cara smiled slightly, her suspicions confirmed about the nature of the words he had said. "Have no worries, Monsieur Donelly, the words I did hear I could not distinguish. You were using Gaelic were you not?"

"Aye, t'was Gaelic. You know it?"

Micara shook her head, "Oh no, not a word. I only recognized it as sounding similar to what I've heard spoken between you and Mr. Tuckett."

"You've an ear for language Miss DeMonae, I am impressed."

Micara smiled at the compliment. "Thank you Mr. Donelly, I always did enjoy that particular portion of my studies. Both the written and spoken word have always fascinated me."

He smirked. "A lass and her books."

Cara straightened her posture slightly, a defensive gesture, preparing for the unfavourable comment that was sure to accompany his observation.