by Darci Balogh
She looked at her feet and the ground stretching out about five feet around her in each direction. That's as far as she could see, but all she needed was to look for signs of her climbing up. She hadn't been too careful, surely she had left behind a footprint or some trampled foliage. From there she would just move downward, hopefully encountering the stream or the path or the bridge so she would know what direction to go to get back to the castle.
She found a depression in the earth that could only be a shoe print from her tennis shoes and breathed a sigh of relief. Using that as her guide she walked purposefully, if almost blind, into the low hanging fog.
Chapter Sixteen
Making her way down a steep slope through fog as thick as pea soup was difficult enough, but just as she started to feel she was making headway the misty feeling of fog against her skin turned to chilling rain drops.
She cursed under her breath. Rain. Great.
Rain would make everything harder and more uncomfortable. With the wind picking up it would be cold. It was already slow going since her visibility was almost nil. Scooting down the hill on her rump to avoid falling forward, Tawnyetta had to lean back and hang on to clumps of grass as she slid her feet sideways in careful steps.
More than once she lost her grip on one of the clumps of grass and had to scramble to find another one. Her little morning jaunt was turning into a nightmare. Tawnyetta shook off the negative thinking. No amount of worrying or complaining was going to get her down this hill any faster. She focused on carefully descending the rough landscape as the wind gusts picked up, bringing with them stinging rain.
She was surprised at the ferocious suddenness of the storm. She was also seriously disappointed in her planning and the fact that she had not taken into account the fact that she would have to move much slower while going down than she did on the way up. As she maneuvered, the rain grew heavier. The wind whipped and pummeled icy cold drops against her body, like someone spraying her with a garden hose. Within a very short time she was soaking wet and cold. Very cold.
The ground beneath her felt spongy. Trickles of water from the rain crept down the hill and around the clumps of grass she was using to stabilize her descent, turning what had been solid ground into slippery mud. Tawnyetta decided she would aim for the bridge and take cover there until the rain stopped. That is, if she was heading toward the bridge.
A smack of lightning crackled through the air and she let out a small cry of surprise. Startled, she was thrown off balance and grabbed for a nearby clump of grass, but missed. The mud slipped underneath the rubber soles of her tennis shoes. They weren't built for climbing. Before she knew what was happening Tawnyetta was falling down the slope through the fog, unable to see where she was going. She cried out again, flailing desperately to grab hold of the grasses that were now moving past too quickly to grip. At the bottom of the slope she landed hard and sideways and felt a pop in her ankle.
Pain shot up her left calf into her knee. She cried out for the third time then crumpled and sat down hard in the mud favoring her left ankle. The rain was coming in sheets, soaking her to the bone. Water ran down her face and into her eyes, blinding her. Lightning flashed across the sky and she knew, broken ankle or not, she had to find cover.
Afraid to put pressure on her foot, Tawnyetta crawled in the direction she hoped the bridge lay. Wincing at the pain in her ankle as well as the rocks and pebbles that dug into her knees as she crawled, Tawnyetta blindly felt for any sign that she was getting close to the bridge. In a few minutes, which felt like hours, she found the stream.
She could have cried with relief. If her memory served her right the bridge would be about 30 or 40 feet downstream from where she was at the base of the steepest slope.
By the time her hands finally felt the crunching ancient stone under them, she was covered with mud. Rainwater ran off of her in buckets and her shorts and shirt were so wet they stretched out and hung off her body as if they were three sizes too big.
Gratefully, she crawled under the bridge. Sharp stones surrounded it and dug painfully into her palms and knees, but at least she was out of the rain. She scooted to one side of the bridge and leaned against the solid stone, catching her breath.
Her ankle throbbed. She pushed her soaking wet hair out of her eyes, smudging mud from her hands along the side of her face and into her hair. She brushed her kneecaps and palms where small stones had pressed into them and stuck. As they tumbled to the ground they left little pockmarks in her skin. When that was done, Tawnyetta braced herself and took a look at her ankle.
It was already swollen, puffed up and angry, but it was not sticking out sideways or anything horrible. Gritting her teeth, she focused on moving her toes. Success! This was a good sign. She moved her foot up and down and side to side an inch each way to make sure it wasn't broken. It wasn't, which was also good. But it might be sprained from the look of the swelling.
The rain still came down fast and hard. Gusts of wind blew under the bridge, spattering her every now and then with droplets. She started to shiver and wondered how long this rain could possibly go on. In the short time she'd been in the Highlands, it seemed the rain lasted a while once it settled in. This realization alarmed her, but what alarmed her more was the fact that nobody knew she was up here.
"This could be a very long day," she said to herself. Another bout of shivers hit her and she rubbed her arms with her hands to try and warm up. Her fingers felt like icicles against her skin.
Tawnyetta grew up hiking in the Rocky Mountains and was aware of the dangers of hiking alone. She had broken every rule today. She'd hiked up the hill wholly unprepared, carrying no supply of water or any kind of jacket to protect against the elements. She had even left her cell phone in her purse at the castle, though she doubted there was a signal out here. Still, it would have been wise to bring it with just in case. All of these beginner outdoorsman bumbles paled in comparison to her most foolish mistake–not telling anyone where she was going.
"Stupid," she chastised herself out loud while peering at the heavy rain pouring down on both sides of the bridge.
Waterfalls had formed from the rain pouring off the stone, adding to the tumbling stream. She hadn't taken these hills seriously. Compared to the 14,000 foot mountains she'd tackled back home, these hills had looked so inviting and, well, small. Big mistake.
Another crack of thunder interrupted her thoughts. It was difficult to see through sheets of rain and she had not noticed any flash of lightning, but that clap of thunder was much closer than the others had been. The pain in her ankle deepened and cold crept into her bones. Miserable, stuck, and injured she watched the stream roiling with all of the extra rainwater and realized there was one more thing she could add to her list of problems–flash floods.
Flash floods came fast and furious during sudden downpours. The rain pummeling the top of the hill would naturally flow through this low area. Her position under this bridge was a terrible place to be if the water rose. A sense of dread filled her as she thought of this decidedly real possibility.
Trying to remain calm, she debated which danger was the least in this situation; a flash flood under the bridge, or being hit by lightning, or falling down some uneven spot in the land as she tried to maneuver with a bum ankle. Before she could decide Tawnyetta heard something shift on the stones overhead. At first she thought it was only the natural movement of loose stones under this heavy rain. But the scraping and clumping that followed was definitely being made by something else. Perhaps an animal. Or a human.
Immediately her senses went on high alert. She didn't know which she would rather have, a wild animal of some kind sniffing around or an unknown man or group of men who found her huddled and injured. She was vulnerable and unable to stand or run away. Were there bears in the Highlands? Or maybe wild boars? Or were they warthogs? Her mind flew back to meeting Clark on the plane and all of his stories about the strongmen of the Highlands. His stories had been full of excessively mascul
ine, wild, and uncontrollable beast-like men. Surely they wouldn't be out in this kind of weather.
Another scraping sounded.
Tawnyetta looked around for some kind of weapon and found a rock the size of a large orange. She hoisted it and made sure she had a good grip. If it was a bear, should she hit it on the nose or remain still? What should she do if it was a wild boar? Or a Highlander man?
The scraping and clumping grew louder as whatever it was moved along the edge, then silence. She held her breath. The sheet of water pouring over the sides of the bridge obscured her vision so badly it was impossible to know what was out there.
Suddenly a shadow interrupted the glassy sheen of the water.
"Who's there?" She tried to sound tough and angry.
A boot stuck through the water, then a leg, and a body quickly followed. It was as if the water was giving birth to a full-grown man who had to crouch after entering the world because clearance was low under the bridge. It all happened so fast she went into action without thinking, raising the rock up over her head and shouting out something unintelligible.
The man looked up through dripping hair and her fear collapsed. Michael.
Looking like he'd just climbed out of a swimming pool fully dressed, he broke into a surprised smile. The kind of open mouthed glee that happens when children play hide and seek and finally come across the person they've been seeking.
"Here you are!" he said.
She was still too surprised to answer. Here she was expecting a bear or a warthog or the wild Highland Scottish men ready to manhandle her under the bridge. Instead it was Michael. A wild Highlander in his own right, she supposed, but definitely not as frightening as a warthog.
He was soaking wet. The work clothes she'd seen him in this morning hung like so many flopping rags from his body. But still, he was here. She was saved.
Without looking for a response from her, Michael glanced quickly at the stream that was rushing faster and higher than it had been only a minute ago.
He looked back at her, his face a mix of stern worry. "We can't stay here. The water's rising." Still crouching he took a few steps toward her and offered his hand. "Let's go."
"My ankle," she said miserably, pointing at her left leg. "I can't."
His eyes traveled down her body and rested on the fat bulge that used to be her ankle.
"Damn," he said under his breath. Then he lifted his eyes, pools of dark blue concern, back to hers. "Can you walk at all, lass?"
Lass. The word melted her chilly core. Even in these circumstances he charmed her.
"I don't think it's broken," she said. "But I can't walk on it very well."
Michael looked at the stream, then back at her, then back at the stream. He pressed his lips together and made a decision. Without warning he dropped to his knees and pushed one arm around the small of her back and the other arm under her knees, pulling her towards his chest.
"Can you grab my neck?" he asked, his body warm against hers.
She did the best she could to wrap her arms around his neck though her muscles were stiff with cold. Without another word, Michael hoisted her off the ground and stood halfway up, hunched over to avoid hitting his head.
She started to protest, but was quickly quieted by the sheer effort of his body. His muscles strained around her, yet never held her too tight. All she could do was obediently keep her arms around his neck so he wouldn't have to worry about her falling. She let him carry her through the waterfall and it felt like someone tossing a bucket of cold water over them. Once outside they were immediately drenched again with torrential rains.
"Hold on," he shouted over the monsoon. She buried her face into the nape of his neck where it was warm and semi-protected from the water. Gripping her freezing fingers as best she could behind his neck, Tawnyetta held on as he ran with her in his arms. She had no idea where they were going.
Everything was a blur of sensations. The strength of his arms holding her aloft, the warmth of his chest, the sound of his heavy breathing, the ice cold rain hitting her back and legs, drenching her hair so that rivulets ran down her scalp while her face stayed protected, buried into Michael. She couldn't use her hands to wipe the rain away from her eyes and she knew he couldn't use his either. How was he seeing where they were going? Did he have any idea where they were?
Michael stumbled a few times, but kept her firmly in his arms as he steadied himself. His running slowed into a fast trudging. They were moving uphill. His breathing came harder and harder. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. She was about to tell him that she could try and walk when the rain gave way and he stopped.
She hesitated and thought about pulling her head back to see where they were. But then she felt his body lift then lunge. He grunted with effort. There was a loud crash of wood and she whimpered into his neck.
"It's all right, lass," he said calmly, though he was out of breath. His voice was easier to hear. The sound of the storm had lessened. Raindrops no longer stung her back.
She lifted her eyes from his neck just as he bent over and placed her carefully down on a seat. She tried her best to wipe the water out of her eyes. They were inside a small shack of some kind. It looked old, made of stone with a peaked roof held up by rough hewn beams. The wooden door hung crookedly on its hinges, having just been kicked in. Pieces of splintered wood lay shattered on the floor. Outside the rain still poured.
Tawnyetta shivered uncontrollably. Michael pulled his denim work shirt off and let it fall sloppily to the floor. Underneath he had a lighter white shirt that was so wet it stuck to his skin, making the material almost see through. Tawnyetta only had a few moments to notice his physique underneath the thin film of cloth before he pulled the sticky wet shirt up and over his head and stood before her bare chested.
She had a sudden flash of watching his thickly muscled back and buttocks dancing down the hallway as she and Bridget spied from behind the door. This time she had a front row seat and noticed that he had a tattoo on the left side of his chest over his heart. A circle with some kind of Celtic symbol inside. She stared at the tattoo.
Michael stopped undressing and turned his attention to her, his expression humorless. With zero tact and even less grace, he said, "Get with it, lass. You're fair drookit. Take off your clothes."
Chapter Seventeen
"Wh-what?? Tawnyetta stuttered, partly from being cold, but mostly from shock.
Michael gestured to his soaking wet pants. "We have to get out of these wet clothes."
"I'm not–I'm not–,"she tried to speak, but was overcome with another wave of shivers.
"This is not the time to be modest, lass," Michael said.
She couldn't speak. Instead, she shook her head meekly.
"Here," Michael said as he produced a blanket out of nowhere and held it out to her. "You can cover up with this." His brow wrinkled as he watched her body trembling. "I'll not have you catch your death." He crouched down in front of her, placing the blanket over her knees. He reached up to the top button of her shirt and paused, a silent request for permission. "I promise not to look," he said.
She tried to work with him in removing her shirt, but her fingers weren't cooperating. So cold. She was so cold. Tremors moved through her and she gave up, letting Michael unbutton each button.
True to his word when it was time to pull her shirt off he closed his eyes and did everything by touch. His hands found her shoulders and he pulled the sopping wet shirt off, throwing it on the floor next to his. Then he felt for the blanket and pulled it up and over her shoulders.
Still unable to control her fingers, Tawnyetta admitted, "I–I can't–I can't undo my bra."
Eyes still closed, a ghost of a smile flickered across Michael's face. He reached around her waist, careful not to touch her much. The tips of his fingers barely grazed her skin, yet even this caused another bout of shivers. When he had reached completely behind her, he ran a finger up her spine to find the clasp then undid her bra exper
tly. He pulled the satin shoulder straps down so she could wriggle out of it. Then he grabbed the edges of the blanket and pulled it tightly around her. He did not open his eyes until he was sure she was covered. When he did open them they were dark, like a storm at sea, and so close to her own that her heart twisted in her chest.
Black hair still dripping, and eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement, his presence made her head spin. His shoulders were wide and strong, his biceps rounded, his arms flexed as he held her blanket closed over her naked breasts.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded. It was better. Her skin was still freezing and covered in goose bumps, but the shivering had died down as soon as Michael took off her wet clothes. And the blanket must be the warmest, softest blanket she'd ever felt in her life.
She managed a quivering smile. He smiled back, and when he did his eyes shone and crinkled at the edges. Her heart twisted again.
"Can you manage your shorts?" he asked.
She nodded.
Michael stood and snatched up another blanket from a small cupboard Tawnyetta had not noticed when they entered the room. He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders so that it hung down to his knees.
Then he looked at her and winked. "No peeking," he teased.
Before she knew it he had slipped his pants off and added them to the pile of sopping wet clothes on the floor. If Tawnyetta could have laughed, she would have, but she was shaking from the inside out, which prevented it. Still, she managed to stand up.
"Can you stand all right?" He eyed her ankle.
It was still aching, but she found that she could put weight on it without falling over. She nodded. Then, following his lead, she let the ends of her blanket fall. She was shorter, so her blanket reached all the way down to the floor and covered her whole body. Her fingers had already begun to thaw. Putting her back to him she used both hands to unbutton her shorts.
