Highland Fire

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “Good morrow, lass.” Colin awoke and sat up stiffly. “Has anything come back to you?”

  “Nay.” Megan struggled to shake herself from her somber mood. She would do her grieving in solitude. “How are your wounds faring?”

  “Much better. Thanks to your herbs and roots.”

  Her smile returned. She had no idea what effect that smile had on men. But Colin did. As did Kieran, who sat watching them.

  “Then you no longer object to my attempts at healing?”

  “I am most grateful, my lady.” Colin threw off his cloak and reached for his tunic. Before he could pull it on, Megan crossed the space between them and knelt.

  “You cannot dress until I apply my precious salve.”

  “I suppose I must now endure this ritual every day?”

  “And every single night.”

  “Are you saying I must suffer this indignity until every wound has disappeared from my flesh?”

  “Aye. Every single one, my lord. I have appointed myself your physician.”

  “Physician? Or guardian angel?”

  “Use whatever term you prefer.”

  “It would do no good to argue, I suppose.”

  “No good at all. Now roll over.”

  As she began rubbing the ointment into his wounds, Colin gave a sigh of contentment. “If you did not have such wonderful hands, my dear physician, I would refuse to allow that bloody salve within smelling distance.” He gave another sigh of pleasure. “But since I must countenance all this, at least you could rub the rest of my back, as well.”

  “Mayhap I will apply the rest of it to your tongue, if you do not hold it still, my lord.”

  Colin burst into gales of laughter.

  Kieran watched the ease with which Megan and Colin sparred with each other. He had not seen his brother this relaxed in over a year. Many years, in fact. The lass did have a way about her. At least in the company of his brother. The more they bantered good-naturedly, the darker grew his own mood. Could he be jealous? The very thought of such a foolish emotion as jealousy had him jumping to his feet in need of something physical to do. Jealous. How could he be jealous of his own brother? Even if the lass was breathtakingly beautiful. He had no time for such nonsense.

  Kieran prepared enough food for their morning meal, then went to saddle the horses. When he returned he saw Megan walking from the river. Her face was freshly scrubbed and her hair had been pulled to one side with a sprig of wildflowers. It was difficult for him to reconcile this innocent waif with the fiery creature who had faced her attackers with such courage.

  As always, Megan felt tongue-tied in Kieran’s presence. And his scowling demeanor did nothing to ease the situation.

  “How…” She paused and tried again. “How are your wounds this morrow? Would you like me to apply a little more of my salve?”

  “There is no time.” Kieran hadn’t meant to be so brusque, but something about her made him tense, impatient. The fact was, her ointment had taken much of the sting from his wounds. But some perverse sense kept him from admitting it to her.

  Her temper surfaced, surprising both of them. “If you are too arrogant to admit you need help, I will have to force it upon you. Remove your tunic.”

  “I have no time for this.”

  “You will make time.”

  For a moment they stood facing each other like two angry rams. It was Colin who broke the tension.

  “Unless you do as the lady says, Kieran, we will never complete our journey this day.”

  “Aye.” As Colin walked toward the river, Kieran grudgingly removed his tunic.

  Megan smeared her salve on his wounds. At first, her touch was deliberately rough, mirroring her feelings. But it gentled as she continued to apply the ointment.

  Kieran steeled himself against feeling anything. Struggling to hold on to his anger, he reminded himself that their lives were in peril. But even that compelling reason could not keep him from feeling every movement of her fingers.

  “Your wounds are already beginning to heal.” Her voice was so close, he felt his nerves leap.

  “Aye. I am grateful, my lady.”

  He turned. Instantly she dropped her hand and began to turn away from him. But his hand shot out, stilling her movements.

  His voice was strangely rough. “You have a healing touch.”

  She was afraid to speak. Her heart seemed lodged in her throat.

  “I wonder if you could heal hearts and souls as easily as you heal bodies.”

  He cupped her face in his hand and forced her to meet his look. What she saw frightened her. His eyes were dark, compelling. His lips parted as he lowered his face to hers.

  God in heaven. Was he going to kiss her? She did not know what to do. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. This man both frightened and intrigued her. And though she was loath to admit it, she wanted him to kiss her. She could feel the tension vibrate in the air between them.

  Now that he was this close to her, Kieran had to taste her lips. One taste, he promised himself, then he would turn away.

  His lips brushed over hers, the merest touch of mouth to mouth.

  God in heaven, she was sweet. She smelled like the heather that bloomed on the distant meadows. Her lips were cool and fresh as a morning mist. They trembled against his, and he felt her awkwardness as she held herself stiffly in his arms.

  She had never before been held in a man’s arms. The thought raced through his mind, adding to his arousal. Lost in the taste of her, he took the kiss deeper.

  For a moment Megan tried to pull away, but he held her firmly as his lips moved over hers. He heard her little gasp of surprise and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her.

  She was trembling, and he did not know if it was from fear or excitement. He knew only that he could not let her go. Not just yet. He needed one more taste of her, one lingering touch of her lips against his.

  The sweetness in her was laced with a wildness that inflamed him. Though she was an innocent, he could sense a smoldering passion slumbering just below the surface. She would be no docile maiden, accepting a man’s kisses and then turning away. Nay. He felt the passions that hummed through her, as alive and vital as the very air she breathed. With this lass, a simple kiss would never be enough.

  With a little cry of alarm Megan suddenly pushed him away. One glance at her downcast eyes and flushed cheeks convinced Kieran that his instincts had been correct. She had never before been with a man. The thought left him stunned and reeling.

  “I cannot even heal myself.” Megan was surprised at how difficult it was to speak. “So how could I heal you, my lord?”

  Breathless, she found the courage to lift her gaze to his. Had he just experienced the same things she had? Was his pulse racing like hers? Were his palms sweating; was his throat constricted? She could tell nothing from his dark, shuttered look.

  Kieran took a step back, as if to prove to himself that he was still in control. The truth was, he needed to put some distance between himself and this woman.

  His hands, he noted, were not quite steady. And his voice, when he finally spoke, was gruff.

  “If Colin and I are to elude this hangman, we must make haste.”

  He brushed past her and called to his brother, who knelt by the river, “It is time to ride.”

  When he turned to her, Megan was still standing rigidly, watching him with a look that was unreadable. His nerves were as unsteady as his hands.

  Colin scooped up his cloak and strode toward them. His gait was firmer this day. The lad was mending, Kieran noted with a detached sense of satisfaction. He watched as Colin pulled himself into the saddle.

  Kieran lifted Megan up onto his horse, then pulled himself up behind her and caught the reins. Once again it was there, that quick, unsettling feeling at the mere touch of her. He resented it. He thrilled to it. With heroic effort, he pushed it aside.

  Within the hour they had plunged deep into the forest, far from any sign of civiliz
ation.

  They rode for hours in silence, picking their way over rocks and fallen logs, wading through icy streams. The silence was broken by the occasional cry of a bird or the swift stampede of deer when they came upon them feeding on the forest floor.

  This was home, Megan thought, as her gaze swept, searching for a fleeting memory. Had she walked here, played here or perhaps fought here? Though nothing seemed familiar, she had no fear of these woods. If she had been here before, she had come as master of all she could see.

  She tried, with great difficulty, to keep her mind on her surroundings. But with Kieran’s arms around her, holding firmly to the reins, and his body warm against hers, he was never far from her thoughts. How would she endure being this close to a man who made her so uncomfortable? And why did he have this effect on her?

  She turned to glance at Colin, riding slightly behind them, and Kieran’s dark, probing eyes caught and held hers.

  “Do you wish to rest, my lady?”

  “Nay.”

  She regretted her terse reply, but she could think of nothing to say. Why was it that she could laugh with Colin and tease him with the ease of an old friend, while she could hardly speak when in the presence of his brother?

  Had she ever met a man quite like Kieran O’Mara before? He was abrupt, tense, angry. He was a villain, it would seem, who had spent time in prison, and was even now being sought for the crimes he had committed. And yet his touch could be surprisingly gentle. With his brother, he showed great care and compassion. And with her…she thought of the fire, the passion that he had uncovered with that first kiss.

  Megan shook her head, trying to sweep him from her thoughts. She was unaware that the gesture caused his eyes to narrow in appreciation. Her hair danced around her face and shoulders, then drifted down her back. He clenched a fist to keep from plunging a hand into the tangles.

  Suddenly, Kieran caught a sound. Pulling back on the reins, he gave a curt order for his brother to halt.

  “What is it?” Colin brought his mount up beside theirs.

  “I heard something. A man’s laughter, I think.”

  The three fell silent as they strained to hear anything out of the ordinary.

  “There.” Megan pointed toward a small clearing up ahead.

  Kieran nodded.

  “It could be crofters or hunters,” Colin whispered.

  “Aye. Or it could be the hangman’s emissaries.” Kieran slid from his mount and withdrew his sword from its scabbard. “If I do not return before the sun slips behind those trees, you must go on without me. Colin,” he added fiercely, “you know the way. You will take the lass to Ireland.”

  “I will not go without you.”

  The anger Kieran kept coiled inside him was evident in the way he moved, catlike, to grasp the front of Colin’s tunic. “You will do as I order. I have no fear of giving my life. But I will not give it in vain. One of us must make it home. They cannot take the land as long as there is an O’Mara alive to claim it.” His words were an angry hiss. “Do you understand?”

  “Aye.” Colin studied the hard set of his brother’s jaw and clamped his hand on his shoulder in a gesture of unexpected tenderness. “I understand.” He stared deep into Kieran’s eyes before murmuring, “Do what you must. God go with you.”

  “And you.”

  Kieran did not look at Megan before he strode away. He needed no distraction. But if he had, he would have seen a look of surprise mixed with understanding and admiration.

  “He has been gone too long.” Megan prowled from tree to tree in the forest, unable to contain the restless energy that drove her.

  Colin lay with his back to a tree trunk, his eyes half closed. “I would give anything if I had but half your strength, lass.”

  She turned on him. “How can you lie there when your brother’s life could be in peril?”

  Colin shrugged. How could he explain the weakness that had plagued him these past months while he languished in that filthy prison? The lack of food, sunshine and freedom. And worst of all the endless beatings. All had taken their toll on his health, which had always been fragile. “He said we are to wait. And so we must.”

  The oath that issued from her lips would have shocked even his jailers. “You can wait.” She strode to where the horses were tethered and removed a sword and knife from their place of concealment.

  Colin sat up. “What are you doing?”

  She shot him a look that reminded him of Kieran. “I intend to go to see why your brother has not returned.”

  “But he ordered us away.”

  “Perhaps you are obliged to follow his orders. No one orders me.”

  For a moment the young man was torn with indecision. In all his years, it had never occurred to him to defy Kieran. His older brother was a warrior, trained in the art of killing. Colin’s own training had been far different.

  He watched as the lass strapped on a scabbard and hid the knife beneath the folds of her waistband. As she disappeared into the woods, he paused for a moment longer. Then he followed her lead, retrieving weapons from behind the saddle of his horse and moving quickly to catch up with her.

  When they neared the clearing, they heard voices raised in anger. Peering from behind the protection of a tree, Megan saw Kieran lying on the ground. His hands had been bound behind his back. His shirt was stained with blood. A man stood over him, his voice raised in anger.

  “You will tell us where your brother is. Else you will die.”

  “Kill me then” came Kieran’s reply.

  The man kicked him, again and again, until one of the others put a hand on his sleeve to stop him. “Hold. He is no good to us dead. The brother cannot be far. We will search the woods until we find him.”

  Seeing the pain in Colin’s eyes, Megan put a hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort and caution. “I know what you are suffering,” she whispered. “Though your brother is being forced to sustain another beating, it would do no good for the two of us to charge into the clearing yet. There are too many of them. We must bide our time.”

  He nodded his agreement, but she saw the suffering it cost him.

  Megan and Colin watched as several men mounted and urged their horses into the cover of the forest. When the hoofbeats faded there were only two men left guarding their prisoner.

  “Now?” Colin asked.

  Megan shook her head. “First we must wait and observe.”

  The soldier who had savagely kicked Kieran was as tall and solid as a tree trunk. His eyes, Megan noted, had lit with satisfaction at every act of cruelty. He held a bloody sword in his hand. She had no doubt whose blood it was. At his waist gleamed the dull gold of a knife. A bloody whip hung from his waistband.

  The other guard was lustily eating a roasted partridge. He took no notice of the man who lay bound and bleeding nearby. A sword rested in the scabbard at his waist. He used his knife to cut his food, then jammed it into the bark of a tree.

  After carefully assessing the situation, Megan leaned close to Colin and whispered, “You will wait here. See that you remain carefully concealed. When I reach the other side of the clearing, I will give you a signal. Do not move from this spot until you see the guards leave. Then you must reach Kieran’s side and cut his bindings.”

  “Why would the guards be foolish enough to leave?”

  She shot him a quick smile. “I have not as yet thought it through. But it will come to me.”

  Before he could issue a protest, she was gone.

  Megan made her way from tree to tree, often crawling through the underbrush to avoid being seen. When at last she had made it to the opposite side of the clearing, she got to her knees and studied the scene. The one guard was still eating. But the other had sat down on a boulder and was taunting Kieran. She scooped up a handful of stones, then poised, awaited the right moment to create a disturbance.

  “When we deliver you and your brother back to prison, we have a little celebration planned for you.” The burly guard poked th
e tip of his sword against Kieran’s chest and grinned when it pierced his flesh, drawing blood.

  Kieran clamped his teeth against the pain. He would not give the guard the satisfaction of a reaction.

  “Simmons told us that you thought you were some fine and noble warrior, taking beatings for your puny brother. We shall see how you endure the beatings meted out by the friends of Simmons.” His eyes glittered. “The guards told us how you killed poor Simmons. Snapped his neck, did you?” He laughed, and the sound of it was high and shrill, like the cry of a seabird.

  “Do you see this?” the guard asked, pointing to the whip tucked into his waistband. “It is how I got my name. Whip. I made it myself,” he said proudly, running his hand over the thin strips of leather that would tear a man’s flesh. “We plan to put a noose around your neck and hang you from the top of your cell. And then, while you are helpless and dying, we will each take our turn beating your puny brother with this until he has no flesh left on his bones.” His laughter became a shrill cackle. “Is that not a fine celebration for a noble warrior?”

  Kieran made no reply as he worked feverishly at the ropes that bound his hands. A glance at the tops of the trees told him that the sun had not yet set. Megan and Colin would be dutifully waiting for him not far from here. It would be no task at all for the soldiers who were searching to find them. He and Colin would be returned to Fleet, this time to face certain death. He shuddered to think of the fate awaiting the lass. When these animals were done with her, she would be better off dead.

  “Simmons was friend to me. If it were not for the entertainment you will provide for us in London, I would most assuredly kill you here and now.” Whip spat, standing and giving Kieran a mighty kick. “But I cannot deny the others their pleasure.”

  Whip was about to kick again when he heard a rustling in the forest just beyond the clearing. He and the other guard looked up in surprise.