Highland Fire

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “We must make haste.” Kieran bent and rolled his cloak, then tied it behind his saddle. “Even now the first light of dawn touches the sky.”

  Megan helped Colin to his feet and was pleased to see that his wounds caused him little discomfort. “Tonight I will grind more herbs and roots for a salve,” she promised.

  “I would much prefer deer roasted over a fire.” He shot her a quick smile. “Last night I was too distraught over our circumstances to give much thought to the food those soldiers were enjoying. But this morrow, I would give much for just a taste.”

  “We shall eat.” Kieran tucked a knife into his waistband and carefully wrapped the gold coins in a pouch. “Let us ride. Before the day is over, I promise you I will find food.”

  “Do you think the soldiers will follow?” Colin paused, while his frown suddenly turned to a hopeful smile. “Perhaps, with their leader dead, they will return to England.”

  “Mayhap.” Kieran frowned. “But they claim to be friend to the jailer I killed.” He saw Megan watching him and wondered how much to reveal. “I think their lust for our deaths is too keen to persuade them to give up the chase now.”

  He helped Megan into the saddle, then pulled himself up behind her. When Colin had mounted they urged their horses to follow the path of the river.

  “Where do we go?” Megan was achingly aware of the arms that encircled her. Kieran’s big hands, holding the reins, rested at her ribs. The same hands, she thought, that had held and soothed her last night.

  “We must find a port. If we are to reach Ireland, we must cross the Irish Sea.”

  The breeze lifted her hair, and he breathed in the fragrance of lake water and wildflowers that clung to her.

  Thoughts drifted through his mind. Thoughts that caused him much discomfort. With great effort he forced himself to study the terrain. They had to find the sea. And then they would go about finding a boat to take them home.

  Home. That was one of the things that intrigued him about Megan. Her loss of memory about even the simplest things. Her name. Her home. What must it be like to lose one’s memory of home?

  He could see his own clearly. And with every image, there came the renewed determination to return as quickly as possible. But, he knew, with every mile they took, Megan drifted farther and farther from her own home.

  “The river widens,” Colin called.

  “Aye. We will follow it to its mouth. There will lie the sea.”

  The terrain leveled. Gone were the rocky craigs and rugged forests. Here the land gentled to graceful hills and rolling green meadows. Soon even the hills disappeared, until a flat stretch of land could be seen in every direction.

  Already the air had grown cooler. It carried with it the tang of the ocean, which could be seen on the horizon.

  “Do the soldiers know where your home is?”

  “Aye.”

  Megan shivered as they reached a rocky coast. It was the chill, she told herself. “Then they could have already determined that you will need a boat to reach your destination. They could be riding here ahead of us.”

  “Aye. It has crossed my mind. We will need to be cautious.”

  When they spotted a village in the distance, Kieran slid from the saddle. “They will be looking for two men and a woman. I will walk to the village ahead and inquire about a boat. If the soldiers were here, someone will have noticed them. If I think we are safe, I will return for you.”

  “And how will we know if you walk into their trap?” Megan’s eyes flashed. “You left us once before and managed to get yourself trussed like a boar. I do not fancy staying here again while you get yourself captured.”

  Colin’s voice was warm with laughter. “What do you say to that, my brother?”

  “You are a most vexing woman.” Kieran frowned at her as she steadied the restless horse.

  “I may be vexing, but your plan is weak,” she said calmly.

  “You should send me into the village. They will not be looking for a lone woman. No one will notice me.”

  He studied the soldier’s garb, the wild mane of golden hair, and threw back his head with a roar of laughter. “No one will notice? Forgive me, my lady. You cannot help but turn heads.”

  Megan had never before heard him laugh. It was a rich, warm sound that oddly pleased her.

  Colin joined in the laughter. “Aye, Megan. My brother is right. You could not possibly enter the village without notice.”

  She glanced at herself and was forced to make a grudging admission. “Aye. I suppose I would draw attention in men’s clothing.”

  It was her rare beauty that would draw the stares of the villagers, Kieran knew. But he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

  “But know this.” Megan kept her gaze fixed on Kieran’s eyes. “If you do not return by the time the sun is directly overheard, Colin and I will ride to the village to see what detains you.”

  “Very well. Since you force me to change my plans,” he said, bowing slightly toward Megan. “Find the village inn. I will be waiting there. With a tankard,” he added with a smile. “There we will refresh ourselves and chart our course for Ireland.” He turned, then flung an admiring glance over his shoulder. “Has any man ever told you that you have the instincts of a warrior, my lady?”

  She felt her cheeks flushing as he began to make his way toward the distant village. He could not have given her a nicer compliment. But she had not the slightest notion of why his words had pleased her so.

  As their horses plodded along the dusty lane, Megan pulled her cloak tightly around her to hide the strange clothing she wore. She had been agitated since Kieran had left them. They should have gone together. There was safety in numbers. Besides, she could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Their journey here had been too easy. And now, as they approached the row of aged cottages that looked out over the dark waters, the feeling grew.

  “There, Megan.” Colin pointed to the weathered sign that hung over the last building. “The Lion’s Head.”

  She nodded and brought her horse to a halt. As she dismounted she whispered, “I do not like it, Colin. Something is amiss.”

  “There are only two other horses tethered here.”

  “Neither of which is Kieran’s,” she reminded him.

  Colin glanced around. “Where could the soldiers hide that many animals?”

  She had no answer to that.

  “Come, lass. It has been a difficult journey. But food and ale will lift our spirits.”

  The Lion’s Head was a small, cozy tavern. A fire burned in the fireplace, driving away the chill. The aroma of freshly baked bread perfumed the air.

  A quick glance showed only two elderly gentlemen seated in one corner and a cluster of fishermen fresh from their boats seated around the fireplace, lifting tankards.

  “I do not see Kieran.” Megan frowned.

  “Nay. Nor do I. But do not fret. He said he would meet us here. He will be along soon.”

  They followed the innkeeper through a small alcove. There a table was set in front of a cheery fire. When the innkeeper left, Megan studied the young man across the table. “Are you so trusting of everyone? Or just of your brother?”

  He grinned. “Kieran is a man of his word. I have no doubt he will be here.”

  “And the boat?”

  Colin shrugged. “Kieran will find a way. He will bribe or bully or buy what is needed.”

  They looked up as the innkeeper entered, carrying a tray containing a decanter and goblets. When he left Megan filled both their glasses. Before they could lift them to their lips, Kieran entered and took a goblet from the tray.

  “We drink to a safe journey,” he said.

  “I told you he would come.”

  Kieran glanced from Colin to Megan. “Was there a doubt?”

  “Aye. The lass is edgy.”

  “And well she should be. But I encountered no trouble.”

  The ale burned a path of warmth from Megan’s throat all the w
ay to her stomach as she felt her taut muscles begin to relax. She knew not why the feeling of danger did not go away, but soon enough, as Colin said, with food and ale, it would be gone. “Have you located a boat?” Megan asked softly.

  “Aye. ’Tis small but seaworthy. The owner, a fisherman, knows these waters. He offered to take us across the Firth of Clyde to the Island of Arran.”

  “And then?” Colin asked.

  “We will need something bigger than his small fishing boat to see us across the North Channel. But at least we will have a body of water between us and the hangman.”

  The innkeeper entered, bearing yet another tray. This one contained smoked haddock and steaming rolls fresh from the oven.

  “Does this have a name?” Kieran asked as he helped himself to a large portion.

  “Aye. Finnan haddie.” Both the innkeeper and Megan spoke in unison.

  “You are a Scotswoman. I can tell by your manner of speech. What is your clan, my lady?” the innkeeper asked.

  Megan felt a moment of panic. But before she could respond, Kieran said, “MacDougal.”

  “Ahh. A Highlander. You are far from home, my lady.” The innkeeper gave Megan a long, lingering look before bowing from the room.

  When they were alone, Kieran answered her arched look. “When you and your companion were in the Highlands, I heard you warn him to beware the MacDougals. ’Twas their deer you were poaching.” He took a bite of fish. “It is grand, my lady. You must have eaten this before.”

  Kieran watched as she tasted, then began enjoying, her meal.

  “Aye. Though I do not remember. But I remembered what it was called.”

  He heard the disappointment in her tone. “Remembering a word is not the same as remembering a lifetime, is it?”

  “Nay.” She fell silent.

  “It will come in time, Megan.”

  “Time.” She glanced out the window to the dark water that reached to the far horizon. When they left here, there would be no more time. She would leave her home, her country, for a strange new place.

  Kieran saw the look in her eyes and wished there was some way to ease her burden. But their celebration had suddenly taken on a somber note.

  When they had finished every morsel on the tray, the innkeeper brought them scones with clotted cream and dishes of fruit conserves. They ate until at last their hunger was abated.

  “We go now to the boat.” Kieran lifted his tankard and emptied it, then dropped some coins on the table and led the way. Colin and Megan followed.

  Along the shore they picked their way carefully amid the fishermen who sat on rocks, mending nets. Kieran stuck out his hand to a rangy man whose skin was the texture of aged leather. Fine lines creased his forehead. His cheeks bore deep hollows of sunken skin. His white hair was in sharp contrast to his sun-bronzed skin and pale blue eyes.

  “Is the boat ready?”

  “Aye.”

  They followed the old man to a small craft that bobbed at anchor in the foaming surf. If they had doubts as to its seaworthiness, they kept their fears to themselves.

  Megan cast a quick glance at the dark clouds that billowed on the horizon. Not a good omen. She felt a sudden, quick flash of fear and wondered if she had ever before been in a boat on the ocean. The fear grew. Something about this day was not right.

  Stepping into the water, they made their way to the boat. Kieran helped Colin into the stern, then turned toward Megan. Without warning an arrow sang through the air and landed in the boat’s hull, missing Megan’s head by mere inches.

  Racing toward them along the rocky shore were a dozen men on horseback.

  Most of the fishermen, having seen the approaching soldiers, ducked out of the way. Those few unfortunate enough to be too slow to escape gave out cries of pain and fear as they sustained wounds from flying hooves and singing arrows.

  “Launch your boat,” Kieran shouted to the fisherman.

  “There are too many of them.” The captain, too afraid to move, stood paralyzed on shore.

  “You can go with us, or we will take your boat across the Firth of Clyde alone. Either way, we go now.”

  Hearing the challenge in Kieran’s tone, the fisherman responded by leaning his shoulder into the boat. Kieran joined him. But with both men pushing the boat against the incoming tide, Megan was left alone to face the approaching attackers.

  She pulled her sword and faced the first horseman. As he raced toward her she sidestepped and caught him on the tip of her sword, sending him sprawling into the surf. The next two horsemen came up on either side of her. But though she was outnumbered, she fought valiantly, toppling one and wounding the other.

  “Megan. Come.”

  At Kieran’s cry she turned. Already the boat rode the waves. As she watched, the fisherman hauled himself over the side and took up an oar.

  Two more riders were thundering toward her. She dared not turn her back on them and try to make it to the boat.

  “Megan. Hurry.” Colin’s voice was carried to her on the wind, like the call of a seabird.

  She faced the next attackers and felt her hopes dim. Kieran and Colin would be forced to leave without her. But at least she would have the satisfaction of taking some of these bullies down before they managed to overpower her.

  As she lifted her sword, another horseman came up behind her. Before she could turn, she heard the sound of blade meeting blade. She caught a glimpse of Kieran. He had returned to her side to join in the fray.

  As she fought back another attacker, Kieran caught her by the arm, dragging her into deep water. “There is not time to waste. The boat leaves now.”

  “But what about the soldiers?”

  “They will have to be powerful swimmers to catch us.”

  A huge wave rolled over them, taking them both down. Megan felt herself being pounded against the sand and rocks that lined the ocean bottom. Then, when she thought she could hold her breath no longer, she surfaced. A hand caught her, drawing her even farther into deep water.

  She glanced toward shore and saw that the horsemen had halted. Even those brave enough to ride their horses into the water were driven back. The surf pounded the rocks, sending a foaming spray several hundred feet into the air.

  “The boat…”

  “Out there.”

  Megan felt a moment of panic. But as she cut cleanly through the water, Kieran stayed close beside her. Several times she felt herself being pummeled by the waves. But each time, when she surfaced, Kieran was there, shouting encouragement, staying close to her side.

  By the time they reached the boat, Megan had no reserve of strength left. She felt strong hands closing around her wrists as the fisherman and Colin dragged her into the boat.

  When Kieran pulled himself over the side, he touched a hand to her as she lay heaving and struggling for breath.

  “Well done, Megan.”

  The tiny boat was lifted on a giant wave. For long minutes it hovered, riding the crest. Then, as the wave dipped, the boat seemed to shudder, then dropped hundreds of feet, where it bobbed gently, until the next giant wave caught it and tossed it around like a child’s toy.

  Megan felt her stomach heave as sickness enveloped her, leaving her weak and drained.

  Kieran glanced at her pale face and, dipping a strip of cloth in the water that rolled about the bottom of the boat, pressed it to her fevered brow.

  “It will pass.”

  From the depths of her misery she summoned as much anger as possible. “The next time you plan a journey,” she said between bouts of retching, “I should like it to be in a pony cart.”

  Kieran’s eyes danced with laughter. Even in a time of crisis, she could be counted on to have the last word.

  Chapter Seven

  B y the time they reached the rugged shores of the Island of Arran, a cold, steady rain was falling. The sky grew black as the storm moved in. The waves, lashed to a frenzy by the storm, pounded against the shore.

  While the captain steered the
little craft between rocks and boulders, Kieran and Colin leaped over the side and set their shoulders to the task of bringing it in. Megan could only lie and watch. The seasickness had left her as weak as a newborn.

  When the craft was anchored, the captain accepted his pay from Kieran. Eager to return to the mainland, he turned toward Megan, who clung weakly to the side of the boat. “Can you stand, lass?”

  She gripped the edge of the rail and struggled to pull herself up, but her legs were unable to support her weight.

  Seeing her distress Kieran lifted her easily in his arms. Now she truly was as frail and helpless as she had first appeared. It tugged at his heart to see her like this. He splashed through the shallows toward shore. There he deposited her in the grass and turned to Colin.

  “Stay with her. I will return as soon as I find another craft to take us across the North Channel.”

  “What about food and shelter? Megan looks as though she has need of both.”

  “Aye.” Kieran glanced at her, then met his brother’s questioning look. To spare her further distress he kept his voice low. “It is what we all need, especially the lass. But the men who follow us will be but the stroke of an oar behind us. We dare not tarry here. We must set out immediately for Ireland.”

  “In this storm?”

  Kieran hated what the crossing had done to Megan. She had not the strength to lift her arm, let alone wield a sword. But there was nothing to be done about it. They were no safer here than they had been in the highland forests.

  “We leave as soon as I find a boat and a fisherman willing to sail it. Until I return, keep watch along the shore. At the first sign of a boat from the direction of the mainland, get her to safety and get word to me.”

  Colin nodded. As Kieran walked away, he knelt beside the girl, whose teeth were chattering uncontrollably.

  “Here, lass.” He lifted her into the small shelter formed by two giant boulders. When she was safe from the full fury of the storm, he wrapped her in his cloak and went in search of driftwood. Though the wood was wet, he found enough dry kindling to get a meager fire started. Soon Megan was no longer shivering, though her skin still had that sallow, sickly pallor.