by Amy Jarecki
Stubbing her toe, she tripped and nearly fell atop the man. Thank goodness, she caught herself in time. Lord only knew what he would have thought of her if she’d fallen on him. “Here. Thank you for lending this to me.”
When he reached for it, he caught her hand. “I’m sorry for taking liberties. I overstepped my bounds.”
She gave him a nod. “We both faltered. Now that is done, it mustn’t happen again.” Her gaze trailed to their joined hands. “I only…”
“Yes?”
She couldn’t tell him how much she’d enjoyed her first kiss, how much she wanted him to kiss her again. That would be admitting the same hot Gypsy blood coursed through her veins as it had in her family for generations. Ma had warned her, blast it all. “Ah…I’m looking forward to going home.”
His face fell. He released her hand and tugged the shirt over his head.
Akira’s fingers tingled, but a hollow chasm spread through her chest. Why did he constantly make her feel as if she’d said the wrong thing? Twisting her lips, she sat on the opposite side of the fire.
Geordie pulled on his doublet. “Now the sun has set, ’tis growing cold.”
“Another reason why I needed to return your shirt.”
He nodded, reclining on his elbow and staring at her across the flames. He could have passed for a statue of a Roman god, his head resting in his palm, bottom knee bent, top leg straight.
She glanced to the wounded thigh. “How is your injury?”
“Still there.” Goodness, how he could unnerve her, staring from across the fire. Did the man ever blink?
“Better?” she asked, trying to calm the butterflies dancing around her stomach.
A single eyebrow arched. “Coming good, I reckon.”
Akira rubbed her eyes. “I think ’tis time for sleep. I’m so tired I can’t see straight.”
Mayhap once I’ve rested, I won’t feel so out of sorts.
He patted the ground beside him. “Then you’d best come lie on the pallet I’ve fashioned. The sand and ferns have made it quite comfortable.”
She bit her lip. “No, I think I’m content to stay here.”
Looking a wee bit forlorn, Geordie furrowed his brow with a twitch to his stubbled jaw. “As you wish.”
Chapter Eleven
With morning came a heavy mist, reminding Geordie of the direness of his situation. The more they tarried in the Highlands, the better chance he gave the redcoats of riding around and setting an ambush.
He was a far cry from safety, and if the Government soldiers had found his flask, the Marquis of Atholl would be out for blood. Och aye, John Murray and his army of dragoons would jump at a chance to elevate his status in the eyes of Queen Anne.
The bastard.
Akira’s arm brushed his chest as it had so many times on this journey. And yes, every wee touch made his heart quicken, but this morrow, he would take her to Spean Bridge and ask Clan MacDonell to take her home. His heart squeezed. He might miss the lass, but she’d be far better off back home with her family, and Lord knew, he had a host of dealings awaiting him at Huntly.
She swept the back of her hand across his forehead. “I think you might be a wee bit fevered.”
He took in a shivering breath. He didn’t have time for a damned fever. “’Tis nothing a good swig of whisky will not heal.”
“And I need to make you some willow bark tea at our very next opportunity.”
He looked beyond her, steering the horse around an enormous boulder. Picking their way through the fog wasn’t just tricky in the Highlands, it could be lethal. “I’d prefer whisky.”
“Aye, spoken like a true Highlander, but you hired me as your healer. And if you want to heal quickly, I suggest you do my bidding.”
“Och aye, I’d almost forgotten.” The fog grew thicker with every descending step. “Ten shillings, is it?”
She gave him an assured nod. “That was our agreement.”
“Not to worry, lass. I honor my debts, like a true Gord—ah—honorable merchant.”
As they continued their descent of the western Highlands, sweat beaded Geordie’s brow. Though he wouldn’t admit it to Akira, he was a bit fevered. The past few days had sapped his strength—they would have taken their toll on any man with a musket shot to the leg. He shoved his hand through his hair. He’d weather this ailment like a true Gordon. A wee musket ball couldn’t take the wind out of his sails—at least not for long.
Sound asleep against his chest, Akira sighed. Heaven help him, she looked almost as beautiful sleeping as she did when awake. Though she was peaceful in sleep, he preferred gazing into her indigo eyes, even when she was a bit angry. Mayhap especially when she was angry.
And she’d had every right to be irritated with him last eve. Like an idiot, he’d fashioned the pallet anticipating a night sleeping beside her.
Bloody lecherous cur I am.
Who knew what would have happened if she hadn’t donned her clothing and insisted upon sleeping on the other side of the campfire? He was unlikely to have been able to control himself throughout the night—especially in the wee hours.
At least Akira had a sensible streak. And thank God good sense had escaped her when she’d opted to bathe in the pool. Truly, she wouldn’t have done something so rash had she known of Geordie’s reputation. But now he’d seen her nude, nothing else would do.
Soon they’d climb down from these mountains and the dream would be gone.
Movement through the haze drew him from his thoughts. Tugging on the reins, Geordie slowed the horse and peered down the slope.
His gut leapt to his throat.
Redcoats.
A musket fired, the blast resounding between the hills.
Akira snapped up with a gasp. “Wha—?”
“Wheesht!” Geordie hushed her, slamming his heels into the horse’s barrel.
With a cry, Akira threw her arms around his waist as the horse spun northwest, heading back into the mist. Ahead, more shots came.
“Surrounded?” Geordie whispered, looking left then right. Damn. His only choice was to run from whence they came.
“Ghàidhealtachd,” a deep voice growled, the Gaelic word for the Highlands. The sound came from a ravine—a perfect place for an ambush.
Against every military lesson he’d ever been taught, Geordie made a snap decision and reined the horse toward the sound. Musket fire cracked overhead. He crouched over Akira, shielding her with his body. “Keep your head down!”
The horse raced through the rocky ravine, kicking stones and blowing snorts of air through his nose.
“Lean,” growled the voice giving a command to follow.
Straining his eyes, he caught a glimpse of a brown pony swishing its tail. Geordie trailed after it, staying close enough to keep the tail in sight.
As they galloped downward, the mist cleared enough for him to make out a burly Highlander crouched atop a garron pony. The sound of horses pummeled the ground, running in the opposite direction. Through the mist above, he made out the ghostly outlines of an entire Highland regiment mounting a charge, cutting them off from the bloodthirsty dragoons. Muskets blasted behind them as Geordie reined his horse behind the Highlander, barely able to keep the man’s shadowy form in sight.
“What’s happening?” Akira asked in a sharp whisper.
“I think we’ve found a mob of friends.”
The musket fire grew distant as Geordie followed the Highland soldier for miles until he led them into a dense forest and stopped outside the gaping entrance to a cave. A dozen questions came to the tip of Geordie’s tongue as he pulled his mount alongside the big man. “I owe you a debt of gratitude. You arrived just at the right time.”
The man looked up and removed his cap, his eyes flashing wide. “Your Gra—”
“Sir Coll of Keppoch?” Geordie boomed, loud enough to drown out a squawking rooster. Thank God he’d finally happened upon an ally, but he didn’t want anyone knowing his identity, especially with the
enemy on his heels. “How in God’s name did you ken we’d be traveling through?”
“Ah—word was, the redcoats were setting an ambush for a wounded—ah—man and a healer.” Coll’s gaze flashed to Akira. “I’ve a great deal to tell you.”
“I’m certain you have.” He helped Akira down and introduced her. “Is there anyone inside who can offer the lass a meal and a comfortable seat?”
“Freddy!” he hollered as he dismounted. “We have company.”
A lad no older than twelve stepped outside. “Yes, sir.” He took one look at Akira and his mouth dropped open. “H-h-hello.”
Geordie slid off his mount and winced at the pain.
Coll eyed him with concern furrowing his brow, but motioned to his man. “Take Miss Akira inside and see she eats a bellyful.”
Akira curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”
The chieftain gave her a lopsided grin. “God’s teeth, the report didn’t say anything about the healer being so bonny.”
Geordie’s gut clenched, along with his fists. At one and twenty, the young chieftain had best keep his hands and his eyes to himself. “Watch yourself, MacDonell. Anyone who lays a finger on the lass will answer to me.”
“She’s yours, then?” asked Coll.
“Aye.” What else could he say? He certainly wasn’t going to let on that she was an unmarried maid. She’d have an entire clan of MacDonell Highlanders trying to woo her.
Akira’s bewildered stare shifted between the two men. “I beg your pardon?”
“Will you be all right, miss?” Geordie asked, manners drilled into him since the cradle materializing out of nowhere.
She blushed like a rose in full bloom, while bewilderment reflected in her eyes. “Of course I will. The question is, will you be all right?”
He squared his shoulders, pretending nothing was amiss. “Give me a moment with Sir Coll and I’ll join you forthwith.”
Drawing her eyebrows together, she stared at him as if he’d just flown down from the moon. “Ah—very well.”
Once the lass followed Freddy, Geordie beckoned Coll with a wave of his hand. “Come. Let us walk.” Or limp, as the case may be.
“I cannot tell you how surprised I am to see you, Your Grace.”
Slicing his hand through the air, Geordie glanced over his shoulder. “’Tis best if no one kens I’m a duke. If the redcoats catch wind of it, they’ll crucify me for certain.”
“Yes, Your Grace…I mean…sir?”
“Sir is fine.”
“It just seems wrong.” Coll scratched his full head of red hair. “I should at least say ‘m’lord.’”
“Nay.” Geordie stumbled, pain shooting up his thigh.
“Are you injured, Your—ah—m’lor—ah—sir?”
“Damnation.” He grasped Coll’s shoulder to regain his balance. “I took a musket ball to the thigh.”
“Dear God. You should be abed.”
“Aye, if only there were one handy.” Geordie beckoned him to continue on. “But I haven’t time for that now. Did you ride into Hoord Moor?”
“Nay. I’m still feuding with the bloody MacIntoshes.”
“And how is that proceeding? Are you in need of reinforcements?”
“Nay. I’ll beat them back to the Hebrides for certain.” Coll slapped the hilt of the sword at his hip. “We’ll be ready for the next Jacobite rising.”
“Good lad. But ’tis a fortunate thing you stayed home—you can give me an alibi if needed.” Geordie wiped his brow with his sleeve. Good Lord, he was weak.
“Bloody Christmas, are you all right, sir? You’ve turned white as bed linen.”
With a shake of his head, Geordie slapped a dismissive hand through the air. “That’s why I’ve brought the healer. I reckon she’s kept me alive.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but close enough.
“’Tis a good thing indeed.” Coll looked back toward the cave and a half-cocked grin spread across his ruddy face. “She certainly is bonny.”
“Aye, and she’s not for you.”
“Oh?”
“Give it a rest, MacDonell.”
Coll’s lips thinned. “Ah yes, I’ve heard word of the duchess leaving for Flanders.”
“How dare you question me?”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to treat you like a duke, Your Grace.” The ginger-haired scoundrel bowed. “Beg your pardon. I meant to say, ‘sir.’”
“Ungrateful whelp.” Geordie cuffed the back of his head. “The healer is under my protection and that is all.” He looked to the trees rustling with the wind above. “I need to arrange an escort to safely take her back to Dunkeld.”
“Are you jesting?” A snort shot through Coll’s nose. “No Jacobite in his right mind would venture anywhere near Dunkeld or Hoord Moor at the moment—even a royalist suspected of being a Jacobite would be a stretch.”
“Blast!” Geordie balled his fist. “Nonetheless, you didn’t show your colors on the battlefield, and I need someone to take her away home.”
“Och, I’ve a miserable parcel of my own problems.” Coll’s face blurred as he threw up his hands. “Bloody Christmas, of course I’ll take her home if need be. Ye ken I’d do anything for you, but not afore you’ve healed a bit more, Your Gra—ah—sir.”
“Thank you.” Leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees, Geordie took in a few reviving breaths. “You must remember to call me sir. Who else was with you at court that might recognize me now?”
“Just Glen and my brother, Angus.”
“Make sure nary a one uses my courtesy.”
“I’ll catch them as soon as the men return.”
“Good.” Geordie straightened and turned full circle. “Where the devil are we?”
“In the hills above Loch Laggan. I had no idea it was you on the run from the redcoats, else I would have taken you straight to Glen Spean.”
“Och, you did the right thing—MacDonell womenfolk and bairns should be your priority.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m a wee bit concerned for Miss Akira, though. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about her.”
“I’ll tell the men she’s under your protection.”
“Then they’ll want to ken why I’m so goddamned important—you’d best tell them she’s under your protection.”
The corners of Coll’s mouth turned up. Geordie knew full well what the laird was thinking—the varlet. Christ, any man merely had to glimpse Akira and he’d want to bed her.
“Very well,” Coll agreed. “And as soon as ’tis safe I’ll take the pair of you down to Glen Spean. You can have use of my house until you’re well enough for the journey home.”
“Not to worry about me. I’m a Gordon. I could fight a hundred battles if need be.”
“Och aye?” The overgrown lad arched an eyebrow. “With all due respect, sir, you’re as pale as a snow owl in winter.”
Worse, Geordie’s limbs ached, making him bloody weak. “Perhaps a night’s rest on a real bed will remedy that.”
Chapter Twelve
Akira had heard tales of ferocious Highland chieftains and how nary a soul was safe in their clutches. Living like wild men, they preyed upon women and children and attacked their neighbors with fire and sword. But at this very moment, she could prove every naysayer wrong. Sir Coll, who she discovered was the sixteenth chieftain of Clan MacDonell of Keppoch, had been nothing but gracious, albeit in a cavalier sort of way.
His manse was enormous, with nooks and crannies everywhere she looked—and she’d only been introduced to her chamber and the dining hall thus far. Goodness, her chamber was nearly as large as the shieling she shared with Ma and her sisters. And it had a four-poster bed that she wouldn’t even need to share.
Aye, there were a few nice homes in Dunkeld, but she’d never been inside them. Amazingly, Sir Coll seemed to have a servant for everything—cooks and servers and chambermaids, grooms and valets—the list went on.
Seated at an enormous dining ta
ble, she could practically see her reflection in the sheen of the wood, and her chair had upholstered cushions as well as arms.
She picked up the miniature spoon in the silver saltcellar and watched as the salt sprinkled from it, forming a tiny mountain of white granules.
“My word, Akira, you act as if you’ve never seen salt on the table afore.”
She dropped the spoon into the cellar and met Geordie’s irritated stare. “Sorry.” It would be too embarrassing to admit she was too poor to afford a commodity as dear as salt.
“Not to worry,” said Sir Coll, grinning with a wink. Though there were lines etched in the corners of his eyes, he had a youthful face and a mop of wild auburn curls. He wasn’t a typical ginger with freckles and pasty skin. His face had a slightly amber glow to it, which made his cornflower-blue eyes sparkle like the sun on a loch. “We’ll serve up a good meal to the pair of you, and after a night’s rest, I’ll wager you’ll both be fighting fit come morn.”
Geordie speared a bite of meat with his eating knife. “Would you mind sending up a tub of hot water? I’m in sore need of a bath.”
“Consider it done.” Coll threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Would you be needing a wee lass to wash your back, sir?”
The hackles on the back of Akira’s neck stood on end. “I beg your pardon?” And why did a man as important as a Highland chieftain keep calling Geordie sir?
The hall rumbled with Coll’s laugh while he pounded his knuckles on the table. “I reckoned that might light a fire under you, miss.”
Across the table, Geordie glowered at their host. “Haud yer wheesht! My skirt-chasing days have long since passed.”
“Forgive me, sir.” Coll’s big grin was immediately replaced with a more somber expression. Pity, for Akira liked the smile better.
She gave Geordie a quizzical look. “You were a what?” Did she hear him right? Had he been a rake?
Her mysterious traveling partner raised his tankard of ale to his lips. “Apologies, miss. I made errors of judgment as a younger lad, and unfortunately my reputation is tarnished for the rest of my days.”
