THE GIFT: A Highland Novella

by Margaret Mallory

  ***

  “For the love of God,” the Highlander hissed at her, “why did ye wash your face?”

  What had she done wrong? To cover her confusion—and an unexpected stab of hurt—Lily spun away from him and sat on the plaid blanket that had served as her bed. Roderick could not truly be angry with her for washing, could he? No, that was ridiculous. He must still be upset about waking with his arms wrapped around her. Obviously, he blamed her, as men always blame women, though it was his fault entirely.

  She would have pointed this out to him, if she were allowed to speak around the others.

  As she watched the men line up for scoops of porridge from the pot on the fire, she wondered who Roderick had been dreaming about when he pulled her against him. Evidently he was accustomed to sleeping with someone. Poisonous tendrils of envy squeezed her heart.

  She would never admit it to a living soul, but she had awakened long before he did this morning and lay still, barely breathing, so as not to wake him and end the embrace. Given the Highlander’s size and overbearing nature, she should have felt suffocated, trapped. Instead, she had felt truly safe for the first time in weeks.

  What must it be like to wake in this warrior’s arms every day? To feel protected. Wanted. Even cherished.

  Someone nudged her, startling her from her reverie. When she turned to find Roderick seated beside her and peering at her as if he could read the thoughts, her cheeks flamed hot. Her embarrassment gave way to hunger, however, as soon as she noticed he was holding out a steaming bowl of the porridge.

  Her body had not yet recovered from going without food for so long, and the smell made her ravenous. Only after she had scraped the last spoonful from the bowl did she notice that Roderick was not eating. Traveling alone, he would carry only one bowl, and he had given it to her first. The kindness of the gesture made her immediately forgive him for snarling at her about washing her face, and she offered him a smile as she handed him his empty bowl and spoon.

  Now why in heaven’s name was the man glaring at her again? She felt around the edge of her cap to make sure no long strands had escaped. Nothing was amiss. She glanced around the circle of men around the fire to find that a big brute with mean eyes was staring at her. From what she had overheard of the men’s conversation, his name was Harold, and he was the leader of the Douglas group.

  “As soon as ye can slip away without being noticed,” Roderick said in a low voice without looking at her, “I want ye to hide until this is over.”

  Until what is over?

  “The lad has a pretty face,” Harold said. “A man with imagination could pretend he was a lass.”

  “Let him be.” Roderick spoke in a lazy tone and leaned back on one elbow. “If you’ve that much imagination, go bother the sheep.”

  Harold tossed his cup onto the ground and sprang to his feet.

  Panic jangled through Lily’s limbs. The hulking Douglas warrior had murder in his eyes. She hoped Roderick would quickly apologize for insulting the man. Instead, he looked bored.

  “By now,” Roderick said, “I suppose the poor sheep hide when they see your ugly face coming.”

  “I don’t fook sheep!” Harold shouted, clenching his fists.

  “Call it lovemaking, do ye?” Roderick said, and laughed.

  Harold’s face turned a deeper shade of scarlet, and he charged Roderick like a bull. Before he planted his first step, the Highlander was on his feet wielding his huge two-handed sword. He blocked Harold’s first jarring blow with time to spare. Lily blinked, not quite believing anyone could move that quickly.

  The other men gathered around, shouting encouragement to Harold. “Stick your blade in him!” “Knock him on his arse!”

  Lily remembered Roderick’s warning to hide and scurried into the bushes. Her heart was in her throat as she watched the two men go back and forth across the grass, swords clanking. She had witnessed plenty of fistfights and stabbings, but she had never watched two skilled warriors do battle. It was utterly terrifying.

  Harold was a giant of a man, with a barrel chest and grotesquely thick arms and legs. Fueled by rage, he swung his sword with a blunt force meant to pound his opponent into submission.

  Please, God, don’t let him kill my Highlander.

  Guilt drenched her. She had caused this fight, though unknowingly. Her courage wavered, and she squeezed her eyes shut. But she could not escape the sounds of the fight. The shouts and grunts were loud in her ears, and the relentless clang, clang, clang of the swords reverberated up her spine. Unable to bear not knowing how her defender fared, she opened her eyes—and from that moment, she could not take them off Roderick.

  She should have known her Highlander would fight like this. He was male beauty in motion. Lean and muscular, he moved with a stunning grace that made his opponent appear lumbering and ungainly. And while Harold fought with a crazed fury, her Highlander fought with a cold, deadly calm. She watched the muscles of his shoulders and back bunch and release with each smooth, sure stroke.

  The shouts of the other Douglases waned as it became clear that the fight was going against their man. Harold was breathing like a dog that had been run too hard, while Roderick looked as if he could swing his sword all day long.

  Roderick shot a glance in her direction, as if to reassure himself of her safety. Lily gasped as one of the Douglases took advantage of his momentary lapse to thrust a sword low in his path. Making it look effortless, Roderick leaped over the blade, and while his feet were off the ground, he hit the offender with the flat of his sword. Lily turned her head to watch the man fly backward.

  By the time she whipped her gaze back to the fight, Harold was flat on his back and looking up the length of Roderick’s sword. How did he do that? Keeping the point of his sword at Harold’s throat, Roderick stared down the Douglas men who were circled about him until each one took a step back.

  Lily had known instinctively from the first moment she looked into his eyes that he would not harm her. But now, as he stood fearless and threatening, though greatly outnumbered, she believed this fierce Highlander could protect her from any danger she was likely to face in this harsh, unfamiliar land.

  What she did not yet understand was why he was willing to protect her.

  ***

  Now that he had defeated their strongest warrior, Roderick doubted any of the other Douglases would challenge him. Still, there were six of them, and they were riled up. It would cause him a lot less trouble in the end if he did not have to kill them.

  “Have ye forgotten I carry a message from your chieftain?” Roderick asked the men who were surrounding him. “He’ll no’ be pleased if it’s not safely delivered.”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught another glimpse of Lily in the bushes and was relieved she was out of the way, in case his attempt to calm the Douglas men failed. Settling disputes with words was not one of his strengths.

  “We could deliver the message ourselves,” one of the men said, but he took a step back when Roderick smiled at him.

  “The Lord of the Isles is my cousin, and ye know how we Highlanders feel about blood ties.” It was true they were cousins, though three or four times removed. “But if ye wish to be buried in the Highlands, there’s no lovelier place on God’s green earth.”

  “He wouldn’t touch us,” another man said, sticking his jaw out. “We’ve all heard that your Highland custom of hospitality toward guests is unbreakable.”

  “Ach, my cousin would never murder ye inside his home. That would be wrong,” Roderick said, shaking his head. “However, any manner of accident might befall ye on your long journey home.”

  Tension rippled through the men until Harold, who was still on his back, emitted a loud guffaw.

  “So much for the famed Highland courtesy,” Harold choked out between laughs. “Now get the hell off me!”

  Roderick took his foot off Harold’s chest and helped him up. Soon, they were all joking and passing a jug of whisky.

  “T
hat was a good fight, aye?” Harold said, slapping him on the back. “But next time, ye won’t be so lucky.”

  Next time, I’ll cut your throat. Roderick clinked his cup against Harold’s and tossed back another dram of whisky.

  Though he was not fond of drinking before his morning porridge was settled, he hoped it would help with his plan to rid himself of the Douglases.

  “As ye can see, your chieftain’s message is safe with me,” he said. “I know ye take your duty to heart, but why waste your time escorting me when ye could be enjoying yourself?”

  “I’ve no doubt ye can protect the message on your own,” Harold said after wiping his mouth on his filthy sleeve. “But we’ve nothing better to do, and we can’t return too soon.”

  “Fine with me.” Roderick shrugged and paused before speaking again. “But we’ll be out of whisky soon, and there’s a lively tavern in the village of Cumnag, a mile south of here.”

  Roderick took his turn taking a pull on the jug while he waited for Harold to take the bait.

  “Does this tavern have a woman a man can buy with a coin?” Harold asked, his grin displaying several rotted teeth.

  “Aye, a pretty plump one,” Roderick said with a wink.

  ***

  How much could these Scots drink? Lily was stiff with cold from crouching in the bushes as she watched them through the branches. One moment they were set on murdering each other, and the next they were drinking like old friends. And it was barely past dawn.

  If she wanted to spend the day hiding from drunken men, she could have stayed in London and visited her family.

  The bushes offered scant protection from the damp wind whipping through the valley. Her eyelids were practically frozen open by the time the men finally began packing up to leave. After another round of backslapping and boasts, the Douglases mounted their horses and rode off, weaving in their saddles.

  Lily emerged from her hiding place and went to stand beside Roderick, who was still packing up his horse.

  “We’re rid of the Douglases.” He spoke without turning.

  “Good,” she said, though she was not entirely sure if he had spoken to her or the horse. “Are you too drunk to ride?”

  Roderick spared her a scornful sideways glance, then returned his attention to the horse.

  “Well, are you?” she asked. “If so, you must instruct me on how to guide the animal.”

  The horse pawed the ground and rolled his eyes at her in a remarkable imitation of his master.

  “Alas, I am stone sober,” Roderick muttered under his breath. “And what kind of man cannot ride drunk?”

  Apparently, he was the sort who could. She had begun to believe this Highlander could do whatever he put his mind to. Reassured, she went to fetch the blanket she’d slept on and rolled it up.

  “I’m sorry if I was the cause of that fight,” she said.

  “’Twas bound to happen.” Roderick took the blanket from her and tied it to the saddle. “Harold had been spoiling for a fight since the start of the journey. I was happy to give it to him.”

  “Ye weren’t afraid?”

  That earned her another scornful glance.

  “Not even a little?” she asked. “That brute Harold’s neck is thicker than my waist.”

  “I imagine it is.” Roderick gave her his full attention this time, giving her body a slow perusal that drove the chill from her bones like a roaring fire.

  When he lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes were a dark midnight blue that bespoke of sin and mystery. They drew her in until she found herself tilting toward him like a weak fence.

  He is going to kiss me. Of their own accord, her eyelids fluttered closed. Her heart thudded in her chest as she waited for his lips to touch hers.

  “Harold is strong, but he lacks stamina and discipline.”

  Lily snapped her eyes open and was mortified to find that Roderick was leaning under the horse’s belly, adjusting the saddle.

  “While I’ve been training with a claymore since I could lift one,” he continued, and gave the saddle a tug, “and fighting in battles since I was thirteen.”

  Had she imagined that Roderick wanted to kiss her? She looked down at herself in the dirty boy’s clothing. Aye, she must have, for it would take a violator of sheep like Harold to find her appealing like this. Still, it was strange. Her instincts about people were usually so good.

  She told herself it was fortunate Roderick had no thought of kissing her. She faced enough trouble without that. And yet, a sour disappointment curdled in her stomach.

  When he straightened and brushed his hands, a shock of black hair fell over one eye. A high-pitched sound nearly escaped her throat. By the heavens, he was a dangerously handsome man.

  “So, Highlander,” she said, forcing her attention back to the conversation with some difficulty, “you were certain from the start of the fight that you would prevail?”

  “Aye,” he said. “The challenge was to make the fight last long enough so as not to humiliate him.”

  “You care about Harold’s feelings?” She blinked at him. This was hard to credit.

  “Ach, no.” He gave a short laugh. “But insulting the Douglases would not serve my chieftain and clan.”

  Lily would do well to remember that duty, and not emotion, ruled the Highlander’s heart. He had not permitted anger to impair his judgment in a fight, and he would not lose his wits over a woman.

  But she feared she might be losing hers. When he put his hands on her waist to lift her onto the horse, that dizzying sensation took hold of her again. Long after he set her on the beast, she felt the imprint of his hands burned onto her skin.

  Weakness for a man was the most common ailment that led women to seek her cures. Lily had believed herself immune. She was stunned to find that she was falling prey to the malady, especially for a wild Highlander she’d known less than a day.

  The conclusion was inescapable. He had bewitched her.

  She did not know how he’d done it—and she doubted he even meant to—but there was only one sure cure. As soon as she could safely do so, she must part from her blue-eyed Highlander with no hope of ever seeing him again.

  Sadness descended upon her like a weight. Good heavens, she had the illness worse than she thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  Usually a good fight, like a good swiving, left Roderick relaxed, but he felt on edge. The lad’s clothes Lily wore did nothing to disguise the tantalizing feel of her shapely arse between his thighs. When he was not imagining her naked, he was wondering what she was thinking. She had not said a word for miles. He’d never known a lass who could keep silent for so long. It was unnatural.

  “You can leave me at the first town we reach,” she said.

  Learning that she’d spent the morning planning her departure worsened his already foul mood.

  “How much longer before we come to one?” she said, sounding damned anxious.

  “If all goes well, we’ll reach Ayr tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Are there no towns before this Ayr?” she asked. “I don’t wish to be a burden on you any longer than I must.”

  “You’re not a burden, damn it,” he said, “and there are no other towns.”

  He was not about to abandon her in Ayr. Whether his grandmother was right or no about this lass, Lily would be better off wintering in the isles with the MacDonalds, where he could ensure her safety.

  “Your husband must be worried about ye,” he said. “Have ye left him for good, or do ye plan to return to him once ye feel you’ve tortured him enough?”

  The question of whether she was married had been burning in his mind. He told himself he had a duty to find out. If Lily was the seer he was supposed to bring home to serve his clan, he must know what obstacles lay in his path.

  “I have no husband,” she said.

  Was she lying? “At two and twenty, ye ought to have one.”

  “Ought I, now?” she said with a laugh in her voice.

  “Aye.�
� He stifled a groan when the motion of the horse caused her backside to rock against his crotch.

  “I can put food on my table myself,” she said. “What would I want with a husband?”

  “To keep ye warm at night.” As soon as he said it, the vivid memory of waking with her pressed against him came into his head. He imagined what that might have led to if they had not been surrounded by damned Douglases…

  “I don’t need to be wed to have a man for that,” she said.

  Roderick did not like her answer—no matter that he had been picturing her naked beneath him without the benefit of pledges.

  “Ye need a man to protect ye,” he said, though he did not know why he was arguing with her. “A husband will put your life before his.”

  “Ha, not the men I know,” she said. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

  “I saw how ye take care of yourself,” he said. “I suppose ye were just taking a wee nap on the hillside when I found ye?”

  When she shivered against his chest, he regretted reminding her of the state in which he had found her. He suppressed a ridiculous urge to wrap his arms tightly around her and kiss her neck.

  “What was your plan once ye found that healer on the border?” he asked, though they both knew she would never have made it that far.

  “I imagined her as a kindly old woman who would teach me her ways of healing and invite me to stay for as long as I liked.” She gave a light laugh. “I must have gone a bit mad from hunger, for I had a clear picture in my head of the two of us decorating her cottage with greenery and cooking a delicious Christmas feast.”

  Judging from the longing in Lily’s voice when she spoke of this healer she’d never met, he suspected there was an old woman back in London that she missed. That gave him an idea for how he could persuade her to travel with him to his clan.

  “Whoever this Lowlander healer is,” he said, “I can promise ye she doesn’t possess half the gift my grandmother has.”

  Lily spun around to look at him. “Your grandmother is a healer?”

  “Aye.” Roderick had a difficult time concentrating with those green eyes staring at him in such close proximity. “She is famous throughout the Highlands for her gift.”