by Alisa Adams
“Yes, you should put me down?” she said as a question. Her head was in a muddle, whether it was from this man who had just kissed her senseless, or the fact that she had indeed not eaten lately, she did not know.
“No,” he said again as his lips tipped up into that slight smile of his that was more wolfish than smiling. “Ye almost fainted.”
“Ye cannae just pick me up and carry me away,” she tried to say firmly, but she knew it came out weak. In her head it was said firmly, but she knew her voice lacked conviction. She was so tired.
“I can,” Wolf said.
“Ye cannae!” she squeaked.
“I can and I am,” he stated simply.
“I’ll not allow it,” she said primly.
“Ye have no choice,” Wolf growled.
“You are a vera insufferable mon,” Swan said quietly.
“So I have been told.” Wolf looked down into her eyes.
“Weel then, there you are. Put me down or I’ll—”
But he interrupted whatever it was she was about to say.
“I’ll ask ye again, when is the last time ye ate?”
“I…” She waved her hand in the air listlessly.
Before she could form an answer Beak spoke for her. “She feeds the rest of us, and only if there is something left, does she eat. She even feeds the hound before herself, ayup, that she does! Tis getting dark and I know she hasnae eaten since two days hence.”
“Oh Beak...” she said tiredly, but she did not continue, nor could she remember what she wanted to say.
Her world grew dark.
Exhaustion and hunger, fear and worry, fighting and acting brave had all taken a toll on her.
Her body sank down into oblivion in the big Highlander’s arms.
9
Swan woke up early the next morning surrounded by warmth. She smiled, reveling in the novel feel of being warm while sleeping out in the open air of the heath. She squinted just one bleary eye open.
The children were curled around her. All six of them. Even Beans was in the pile of warmth that enveloped her.
Swan sleepily opened both eyes, readying to rise and get the fire going when she raised her head slightly and saw Wolf, stirring the embers of last night’s fire back to life. She laid her head slowly back down on her hand and silently watched the big Highland warrior as he worked. The Highland warrior who had kissed her so wondrously, so perfectly.
He knelt there in front of the fire in his dark navy and black kilt and tall leather boots. He was shirtless, with the morning mist that was coming off the heather seeming to surround him, creating a dreamy vignette.
Swan’s eyes traveled his body in leisurely secret. His legs looked powerful and strong. His chest, with its expanse of sun-kissed skin, was broad and smooth, the muscles clear to see as they bunched and rippled as he worked. Swan’s eyelashes fluttered at the sight. Her lips opened slightly and her breathing increased as she stared at the big Highland warrior in the dim morning light. Her eyes strayed down to his flat stomach which was marked by lines of taught muscle.
She continued to watch as he poured some warm water from a small pot over the fire on a piece of cloth. She watched, breath held as his strong, large hands used the cloth to wash his face and thick, tanned neck. Then, slowly, he moved the cloth over his muscled chest. She was spellbound as her eyes followed every bit of skin the cloth stroked upon his glistening, wet, taught, tanned, muscular body.
When he was done, he put his shirt back on, stoked up the fire again, and put three freshly caught and cleaned rabbits over it.
Swan swallowed and waited for her breathing to return to normal. Then she slowly and carefully rose so as not to disturb the children, or the hound, who was snoring quite loudly.
Wolf glanced over quickly before she saw him, then turned back to the fire, catching her movements out of the corner of his eyes. He smiled his wolfish grin, his teeth flashing white in the dim foggy light of the morning. He did not look at her.
“Did ye enjoy that?” he said lazily with an arched brow as he stirred the fire.
“What?” Swan asked startled. She froze, her cheeks turning bright pink. She groaned inwardly. Does he know I have been watching him all that time?
Wolf let out a soft laugh. He turned his head and stared at her a moment, noting the beautiful and delicate flush of her cheeks, her rumpled, outrageously curly hair, her relaxed, slumberous eyes framed by lusciously long lashes. His eyes rested on her lips. The lips he had tasted the day before.
“Your sleep, did ye enjoy a good night's rest?” he asked innocently. His lips tipped up slightly in a grin as he looked at her.
Swan noted his grin, it was slightly...wicked, and wolf-like, was what came to her mind.
She blushed again, hotter this time. He knows. He is toying with me, she thought.
“I will make some brose for the children to go along with the rabbit,” she said as she walked quickly past without looking at him.
Wolf watched her hurry over to the packs lying near the horses. She came back with a sack and a cast iron pot that she had filled with clear water from the stream they were camped next to.
She could not meet his eyes, he noted. He watched her with a warrior’s sharp eyes. Even her walk was fluid, graceful, and elegant. She was all long, lithe, feminine muscular legs. Probably from all her riding, Wolf thought. The old man named Beak had told him that she rode all the war horses and had a hand in training, or retraining, every one of them. She was training Peigi as they rode, for the horse had had very little saddle time until this journey, Beak had said.
When he had pressed Beak about where they were going, Beak had told him he had to ask Lady Swan that question. Wolf fully intended to.
They were sitting around the fire that morning eating the cooked rabbits and some brose. The children had gathered around Wolf and Keir. They were curious about the warriors and barely let them eat for all the questions they had for them. Keir indulged the children by answering their questions but Wolf scowled at them. His look was so fierce the children shrank back from him.
All but the youngest.
Albie sat staring quietly at him.
“Tis rude to stare lad,” Wolf growled as he concentrated on eating his food.
“I dinnae want to eat a bunny,” Albie whispered with his head down. “And I’m not looking at ye no more.”
“Then don’t eat it,” Wolf said gruffly, still without looking at the little boy. Then he grunted, “Warriors need to eat for strength.”
Albie looked up at him, but then quickly turned his eyes away. He wanted to study the warrior’s belt, his kilt, his boots. He marveled at the muscles in his arms and looked at his own thin arms. He studied the warrior’s mannerisms: how he sat, legs braced wide, with his elbows on his knees to eat. Albie spread his feet and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees and took a bite of his rabbit. Just as Wolf was.
Wolf saw him out of the corner of his eye and frowned. What is this child doing?
But his attention was really on Swan. He wanted to make sure she had finished the rabbit he had handed to her.
She had indeed made sure everyone had enough food before she had sat down. She had passed out the rabbit and bowls of brose. Finally she had sat down with just the bowl of brose.
Wolf stood up, took a hunk of rabbit, and put it in her bowl.
“Eat,” he had said and sat back down. “There is plenty for all.”
She had looked at him in shock then down at the rabbit in her bowl. He saw her lick her lips and look around to see if everyone had enough. Only then did she eat.
Wolf waited until Swan was finished eating. She started to stand, holding her hand out for Albie’s bowl.
Wolf stayed her hand. “A warrior in the making does not need a woman to do his chores for him.”
Albie stared up at Wolf, then quickly jumped up, holding his bowl tightly.
“Children,” Wolf said gruffly to the others, “gather the bowls for yer
lady and wash them in the stream.” He paused and added in his commanding voice, “And thank yer lady for the meal.”
Swan started to protest, but watched with surprise as the children jumped up and eagerly did what the big warrior had bid them—thanking her quickly and hurrying off to “wash” the bowls in the stream. She bit her lip with worry as she watched them scamper down to the stream. It wasn’t deep, but still, she worried.
Kaithria rose. Keeping her head lowered under her hood, she spoke quietly, “I thank ye for the meal as well, Lady Swan. And I will keep an eye on the children. Someone must make sure that none of them go for an unintended swim.” She laughed softly at that and walked down to the stream.
Wolf pointed to Neely. “You.” He nodded his head towards the stream. “Go assist the hooded one with the supervision of those children.”
Neely’s mouth fell open. “Ye dare? I am no servant!”
“Oh aye I dare,” he growled and glared at her. “I dinnae see ye come to yer mistress’s aid to stand beside her and fight, like the little hooded nun did. Nor did I see ye cook or fetch water. Are ye injured perhaps?” He narrowed his eyes on her.
“No,” Neely sputtered.
“Then ye will work around camp.”
“Wolf!” Swan all but yelled at him.
He turned to pin his eyes on her.
“Yes Lady Swan?” he asked politely. He knew what she was going to say.
“Dinnae be talking to me people in such a way,” Swan said angrily.
His eyes narrowed to steel slits, though his slight smile held. “I watched ye faint from exhaustion last eve. Ye cannae do all this yourself. If they are not injured, they will help.”
“But—” Swan started to argue.
“My word is truth,” he said and turned away from her to put out the fire. He glared at Neely until she turned with a huff and walked down to the stream to look after the children.
Swan turned to see Keir watching them avidly.
“What does that mean?” she asked him in exasperation.
Keir smiled broadly with a beautiful, white smile which deepened the dimple at his chin. Even his dark eyes seemed to smile at her. Swan thought the man was quite handsome, though not nearly as handsome as Wolf.
“Mainly it means he is done talking.” Keir stood up and gathered his things and went to ready his horse. Keir nodded to Beak as he passed him.
Beak sat on a rock with his pipe jammed into the corner of his thin lips, watching Wolf and Swan with his eyes crinkled in mirth.
“Lady Swan, what is your plan for your people?” Wolf demanded. “Where are you headed?”
“We are going to Fionnaghal,” Swan answered firmly, pointing her dainty little chin in the air.
Beak nodded his head enthusiastically at Swan, who had taken a seat beside him. He blew a puff of smoke up into the air.
“What do ye know of Fionnaghal?” Wolf asked with surprise. “Are you seeking the aid of the Ross clan or the Black Watch Army?”
“I know that the Ross sisters of Fionnaghal Castle have taken people displaced by the Clearances.” At his upraised eyebrow she continued in a serene voice, “That tells me they are neither colored by judgement for or against Jacobites or Loyalists. Their concern is only for people who have been forced off their land and out of their homes. I also know that the Ross sisters are part of the Black Watch Army. Therefore they must be special, for female warriors to be accepted as part of the Black Watch is unheard of.”
“And how do ye plan to get these people all the way to Fionnaghal?”
“Just as we are doing,” Swan said firmly.
Neely came back and sat down across from them. All eyes went to her. Her hair was pulled out of her usually careful braid in all directions, her tartan wall wet, and her blouse sleeve was green with slime. Swan raised her eyebrow at her.
“What?” Neely said as she looked indignantly at Swan. “Er...begging yer pardon milady, but why are ye looking at me so?”
“Neely, your hair, and your tartan and sleeve look to be chewed and...green?” Swan asked.
“Teeth needed some grooming. He was eating grass. I suppose it got on me milady.” Neely shrugged. “He’s a vera demanding horse,” she added as she gently patted the mess of her hair.
Kaithria came over and joined them with a slight pause as she looked at Neely. Kaithria quickly ducked her head when Neely glared at her. The children had wandered off to see what Keir was doing. Kaithria watched them go and sat where she could watch them, without going near the other large warrior with the handsome dimple in his chin.
Wolf glared at Neely when she sat but Neely gave him an innocent look. Wolf huffed out his breath and turned back to Swan.
“Just as ye are doing? I wager it hasnae been easy, and will get worse,” Wolf said sternly. “Ye are going into more populated areas. Ye are naught but women and children. On giant war horses. Ye will create curiosity and therefore be open to constant attacks. Plus the makeshift bridges are in vera troublesome shape. Most arenae safe to cross.”
“We know,” Neely spoke up. “We have had to repair them as we go along.”
Swan and Kaithria’s heads both swiveled to look at Neely.
Neely blushed. “Well, Lady Swan has had to repair them. Kaithria helped, and...I helped.”
Wolf looked at Swan. “Ye repaired the bridges yourself? How?” he demanded to know.
Swan grinned at him. “The peat cutters,” she said wryly.
Wolf stilled. His only reaction was to arch his brow at her. The woman had almost taken him down with a peat cutter. Sards! he thought.
He could hear Keir laughing, and scowled at him. Keir only grinned more as he winked at Wolf.
“Pay attention to the children Keir,” Wolf hollered to him.
Keir grinned again and turned back to the curious children who were trying to help him brush his horse. His horse did not know what to make of all the small humans surrounding him, so he stood frozen. Occasionally he cautiously snuffled one of their heads when they were close enough to do so. This caused the tiny humans to giggle hilariously which made the horse snort in surprise, to which they only giggled more.
“I have a question for ye,” Swan asked him, interrupting Wolf’s thoughts.
Wolf looked at her questioningly.
“Beak called ye Lord McKay,” Swan said. “Are ye more than just a warrior?”
“All Highlander warriors are more than just a warrior,” Wolf said. He heard Keir’s laughing snort.
Beak puffed out his pipe smoke. “He is Laird McKay.”
Swan looked from Beak to Wolf, “Ye are a laird?” Swan asked Wolf in shock.
“Aye,” Wolf replied. “I did get news that me parents died when I was off fighting. They took sick one cold winter. Me mither died and me father lost his will to live without her.” His face grew stark, rigid at the thought of such devotion. “I have not been home since the day I left as a young warrior.”
Swan watched the myriad of thoughts crossing his face. “Yer da must have loved yer mither vera much to not want to live without her,” she said softly.
“Tis nonsense. A warrior is too strong to have such feelings,” Wolf scoffed. “Such feelings for a woman only weaken and soften a warrior, and make him a fool. Tis ridiculous.”
“Have ye never loved?” Swan asked with surprise.
“Never, and I never intend to. I am a warrior. I serve and fight and will do as needed, for my King. My life is devoted to doing as my King bids me,” Wolf answered stoically as he sat there, elbows on his muscular thighs, with his booted feet braced apart.
“Truly? Ye never wish to have a wife or to love and be loved? To have children, perhaps even a son of yer own?” Swan said, her bright blue eyes widening as she studied the big Highland warrior.
Wolf looked at her and his jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed as they bore into hers. “The day I love will be the day there is a rainbow in the dark night sky,” Wolf said firmly. “Dinnae have any silly, romant
ic, female notions about strong warriors coming to yer rescue,” he said curtly.
Swan raised her chin. “I would never have any such silly, romantic, female notions,” she said as she glared into his eyes. “But love is the most important—” Swan started to say more.
“I will not be swayed. I will not be convinced. My word is truth,” Wolf said crisply.
Swan let out a surprised huff of breath. “That is vera rude,” she said tersely.
Wolf stared at her, unwavering.
Swan raised her chin. “Life is for love, not war,” she said staunchly.
“Ye cannae have love if there is no war,” he said, his eyes boring into hers.
“That makes no sense!” Swan said as she glared back at him.
“If there are no warriors to stand between ye and yer loved ones and those that would take all that ye have, ye will never be able to love at all,” he ground out.
“Fighting and wars arnae needed! But there will always be love,” Swan insisted.
“Not if ye are too busy fighting for yer home, yer life, yer people,” Wolf snarled. “Ye have no man. Dinnae speak to me of love.”
Swan reeled back as if he had just struck her. “There are many types of love Wolf,” she whispered. “Love of home, love of friends, love of children. Not just that between a man and woman.” She paused and studied the huge Highlander, who was staring into the fire like a bronze statue of a warrior god.
“Ye must see that your view of love is not—” Swan started to say more but he turned to her with his steely eyes boring down into hers with a glittering coldness.
“My word is truth!” he boomed at her.
There came total silence. Even the birds on the heath went silent.
Swan took a breath, not looking away from his glittering stare.
She waited.
And waited.
Finally, he slowly turned back to stare into the fire.
Swan carefully released her breath.
“Very well,” she said softly. “Tell me then, who directs your people?”
Wolf turned to look at her. His eyes registered surprise, then doubt.
