The Love of Her Life (Highlander Heroes Book 6)

by Rebecca Ruger

  She smirked at him, her derision evident. “Let’s go, Henry.”

  While Henry still sat, Alec said, “I’ve no plans to shirk the debt, lass. But mayhap you come up to Swordmair with us—we need a healer. More friendly there, safer. We dinna take to those who mistreat women.”

  She stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “Why would I do that?”

  “Get away from here, is all I can think of,” Alec answered, his hands on his hips, shifting his weight onto his left hip.

  “But I don’t...I don’t even like any of you.”

  He wasn’t quite sure why her brutal honesty put a crease into his forehead. He countered with, “And how do you feel about Farquhar?”

  “Henry,” she urged through gritted teeth, her gaze locked with Alec’s.

  “Aye,” Alec said, “but you ken it’s no’ about liking. It’s about living.” He glanced back at the tiny cottage, at the vast meadow and the forest and the mountains behind her home. “You’re naught but a target here, lass.” He had some sense that at this point Henry was only sitting in the tall grass, his shoe well-secured, watching them. Honestly, Alec didn’t understand her reluctance. He’d said she’d be safe, he hadn’t harmed a hair on her head. “I’m offering you something better. What keeps you here? Would you refuse the offer for your pride? You’d sacrifice your son’s safety and a chance at something better—for your own pride? Are you that selfish?”

  Her blue eyes widened, but only briefly before she narrowed them contemptuously at him. “Be out of my house by the time I return,” she said, her tone clipped, “or I swear to God, I will alert the Dalserf army of your presence.”

  Alec ignored the baseless threat, having some idea just now that she would never see the Dalserf castle again. But he prodded her still, his own anger a bit muddled, “Lass, I’m offering you something better. You got other options here? Should we expect more grunts come sniffing after you tomorrow?”

  And that was the last straw apparently. He thought she might have cursed under her breath, was quite sure that’s what he heard just before she moved and yanked Henry to his feet.

  Alec might have reached the boy sooner, quicker, but it truly wasn’t his intent to terrorize her. He let her collect her son and begin marching again toward Dalserf.

  Damn. He wasn’t sure why he did suddenly care, why he felt confident that she and the lad at Swordmair would be for the best. And he still owed Malcolm.

  He called out after a moment, “His wound is bleeding again. Mayhap look at that first, afore you run off to your next husband.”

  She stopped, the healer in her unable to ignore a man’s need as easily as she could ignore Alec. She didn’t turn immediately. She lifted her face and squared her shoulders first, and then she swiveled and faced him, turning Henry around as well.

  “Might you have led with that? The injured man’s pressing need?”

  “Aye, I might have.”

  Jesu, but the lass was sharp. Like fine steel, shiny and beautiful but so willing to cut.

  She retraced her steps, her gait no less angry, and returned to the cottage.

  Alec allowed a rare grin, well pleased. He was going to enjoy having her around, he decided.

  KATIE STOMPED INSIDE the little cottage just as that woman, Eleanor, departed, giving her a curl of her lip but nothing more. She left Henry outside with that damnable Alec MacBriar. She could do nothing just now about his infatuation with these giants, had too much to think about.

  The gall of the man!

  Upon the table still, Malcolm was yet bare chested, the binding showing no signs of bleeding through.

  Katie sighed.

  “He said there was bleeding,” she accused belligerently, as if the patient were in on the scam.

  Malcolm shook his head slowly, watching her.

  She acknowledged that she’d been tricked into abandoning her trek to Dalserf for the moment. Ignoring Malcolm then, she began to pace the short length of the single room, her mind whirring, wondering what she might—or should—do. Pivoting at her counter, she slapped her hands onto her hips and strode across the floor again and again. It was unlikely she would be able to outwit them or outrun them to get away, running toward Dalserf and Gordon Killen, as had been her intent. She wished she were brave enough to have slapped him—Alec MacBriar—for his high-handedness, for his absolute and infuriating certainty that she might do as he bid.

  As if he knew best what—

  “Which part is causing you the most grief right now?”

  Katie startled at Malcolm’s voice. She’d reached her work counter once again, had just turned when he spoke. He’d been prone, but rose now, sitting up slowly and not without a harsh grimace. Instinctively, Katie rushed to his side to assist him in his effort to sit upright on the table.

  “You’re going to tear all my careful stitches if you persist with the up and down,” she scolded.

  “And you’re going to wear tracks in the earth beneath you if you persist with the back and forth,” he said when he was settled firmly.

  Katie gave a prim little snort. “Your man—Alec—is infuriating.”

  “But tell me true,” he said, his color pleasing for its healthiness, “if it’s his overbearing manner that offends you, aye but that’s a small price to be paid for security.”

  Katie narrowed her eyes upon the man. He must have known of the MacBriar’s intent, this incredulous idea that she should go with them when they left. “First,” she said, punching her fists once more onto her hips, “his manner is atrocious, nearly unbearable. Second, he has no right to command or demand anything of me, certainly not when he—and you as well—are indebted to me. Next, I’ve lived here at Dalserf for years and have managed just fine on my own. And,” she added smartly, “this is the only home Henry has ever known. Who is he to say I must take my son away from that?”

  “You want that I address them individually?” Malcolm asked, the hint of a grin showing. “Or, can I enfold everything into one answer? Lass, it’s no’ safe here. You’ll come to no harm by any at Swordmair, no’ ever. We dinna bear mistreatment of any. No fear, no’ for you or your boy.”

  Holding his clear gaze, Katie tried to read him. She imagined he seemed genuine, concerned even, but she knew him not at all.

  “I can’t just pack up all my life and...go,” she argued.

  “Aye, you can.”

  “Why should I trust you? Or him? Any of you?”

  “Guess you’ve no cause to,” He answered with a shrug. “But we’ve done you no harm and you ken we could. Easily.” He waited while she digested this and added slowly. “Leap of faith, I ken they call it. Landing somewhere better.”

  Her lips trembled as she admitted, “I couldn’t. It would be too...risky.”

  Malcolm nodded. “I’d think you a fool if you thought otherwise.” Leveling her with a piercing gaze, he said, “I ken the tending this”—he waved a big paw across his bandaged midsection—“was done at Alec’s behest. I ken you had no choice. But that man come here today, and you could have screamed for help of him, but you dinna. I am indebted to you, healer. I put out the invitation. Aye, so I can vow to you that no harm will come to you or your lad, no’ ever by a MacBriar hand.” His bushy orange brows lifted. “And I can promise you a better life than what you’ve got here.”

  Katie chewed her lip a moment. “Thus it would be you I would hold accountable for any mistreatment or harm or—” No! She stopped herself from even considering it.

  “How long you think you can hold him off, that one from the castle?” Malcolm asked.

  Katie winced and groaned, knowing well the answer.

  “It’s no’ weakness to run from this,” Malcolm insisted sagely. “It’s just good sense to move toward something better.”

  “Something better is merely your assumption, but you—”

  “It’s no’ a theory, lass. That’s a promise.” While she considered this, considered him and the weight of his assurance, he a
dded, “Life will always be hard, you ken. But safety brings a lot of peace, aye?”

  “I will poison you if you prove false,” she vowed, hardly able to believe she was actually considering this. She felt only, as always, a certain helplessness. She was naught but a dried leaf upon the ground, taken by the wind, moved here and there at its discretion and not her own. The only truth she knew just now was that if nothing changed, it was only a matter of time before Farquhar had his way. But to live without fear....

  “I ken you will,” he said, a grin coming. “Be disappointed if you dinna. But there’ll be no need.”

  “If you prove false, if it’s naught but a trap, what...?” She couldn’t even imagine all the questions that needed to be asked and answered.

  “Lass, if we meant you harm, we wouldn’t be asking, we’d just be taking.”

  She supposed that was true. “Honestly, it would be safer?”

  Malcolm leaned downward, giving a deep-throated groan and surprising Katie by withdrawing a large dagger from his tall boot. He straightened and flipped it over in his hand, presenting the hilt to Katie.

  “Take this. I give you leave to use it on me, on Alec, on any one of us, at any time, if I prove false.”

  Hesitantly, she extended her hand at the same time Malcolm did, until the hilt was pressed into her palm. It was heavy, as long as her entire forearm mayhap, and likely would be naught but a futile nuisance to any MacBriar, but she was not immune to the gesture, understanding it carried some weight. She didn’t know very much about a soldier’s life, but she understood they didn’t give up their weapons easily.

  A nervous laugh spilled out. “How would I even carry this thing?”

  “Aye, I’ll get you a sheath and a belt. You wear it around your waist.”

  She met his kind gaze. “You want to turn me into that woman, Eleanor?” She teased, though was still decidedly nervous.

  Malcolm’s face screwed up. “She’s got her charm, that one,” he said, a grin hovering still. “Yet, you dinna want to aspire to that, lass. But you keep yourself safe, aye?”

  After another long pause, she said with a heavy sigh. “I’m Katie, by the way.” She watched him closely still, waiting for some shrewd bit of malevolence to color his face now that she’d essentially agreed to go to some place called Swordmair.

  “Malcolm, as you ken.” He pointed a finger at her. “I’m indebted still. Taking you to Swordmair dinna erase the debt, I ken.”

  “How angry is he going to be for how long it will take me to pack up my entire household?”

  Malcom snorted. “No patience, that one. But then you travel with an army, those lads come in handy, lifting and lugging and all that.”

  Katie smiled, but felt no peace for her decision, was already thinking she wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave Dalserf. Oh, God, what to do!

  Vaguely, her brain still churning, her belly equally unsettled, she said, “I’d need my entire home packed, all my roots and plants and seeds and—”

  A voice from the doorway turned Katie around with a start.

  “That’s no’ going to happen,” said Alec MacBriar, standing at the threshold with Henry, his hand comfortably set on her son’s shoulder.

  Straightening her spine, she declared, “A healer is useless without her medicine. Would be silly to drive us halfway across the country, if I can serve no purpose once arrived.” She realized that with those words, likely spouted merely to thwart him, she had made her decision.

  God help her.

  Alec snorted derisively. “Lass, I can simply scoop you up and toss you over the back of a horse.”

  “Please do. And then pray you never are injured or become ill. I vow the remedy will be worse than the need for it.” She continued then, as if she had not just threatened his life so casually. “If you want to have an effective healer, then every seed and plant and leaf is necessary.”

  He curled his lip at her, while she lifted a brow, challenging him. “And Boswell comes with us.”

  Holding her gaze, Alec ground out, “Start packing.”

  Chapter Five

  “Won’t see Swordmair until tomorrow,” Eleanor said gruffly.

  No, they would not. Alec shook his head, not wanting to have this conversation yet again with her. She’d already made her displeasure known many times over the last several hours. Eleanor had groused about the number of things the healer expected to take with her, had been decidedly vocal in her dissention with the choice to pilfer yet another cart to accommodate the household and inhabitants, and had grumbled and murmured almost non-stop in the last hour since they’d actually gotten on the road.

  “Elle, give it a rest, aye?” He begged wearily. Jesu, but when she got her dander up, it was a long time coming down. Alec couldn’t imagine why she cared, what all her fuss was about. To his mind, they were on the road sooner than expected. Initially, he’s supposed they might have been holed up for many more days waiting on Malcom’s recovery. Having given it some thought over the last many miles, he could make no sense of Eleanor’s blatant dislike of the healer and these plans to bring her to Swordmair.

  Eleanor pinched her lips and moved a bit ahead of Alec, to ride side by side with Aymer instead.

  With a sigh, Alec threw a glance over his shoulder, which showed the two wagons plodding along. The cart directly behind him was driven by John and was filled beyond the brim with most of the Oliver possessions and, as she’d insisted, every last kernel and plant from her work counter. She’d wanted to uproot the garden as well, which Aymer and Simon had actually begun to do, when Alec got wind of it. He hadn’t touched her, but he’d wanted to, wanted to shake her forcefully until she understood she would not be able to dictate to any of them.

  “Only digging they’ll be about is your own grave,” he’d snarled at her, “you keep up with this.”

  She’d given up so easily, with naught but a negligent shrug, Alec had been forced to wonder if she’d made the ridiculous request simply to provoke him.

  From his vantage point, Alec could now see just the top of Malcolm’s head, the bright orange hair bouncing rhythmically beyond Fergus, driving the second cart. Malcolm was not yet well enough to ride himself. Alec could hear Henry, or rather muted words from the lad as he spoke almost ceaselessly to Malcolm, sitting in the bed of the wagon as well. Alec grinned at this and thought ’twas the least Malcolm deserved for insisting on transporting the boy and his mother.

  Likely, Malcolm minded little; he was infused with an inordinate amount of patience, something Alec often found sorely lacking in himself. As it was, it was hard not to like the lad. He was neither troublesome nor whiny, had pulled his relative weight—under his mother’s direction—during the packing with nary a complaint, made conversation fairly easily with any and all, and had proven already to be a rather adaptable boy.

  Loping happily alongside the moving army, Boswell had impressed him that he kept up so well with the moving horses, disappearing here and there but always returning to canter near his mistress’s vehicle.

  Sitting at the end of the wagon’s bed, with her arm thrown up over the side rail, Katie Oliver stared only at the passing scenery. She did not look ahead, to what might come, but allowed her gaze to stay only on that which was in her line of vision as she sat sideways. Her bonny face was still and drawn. She barely blinked, it seemed, and Alec had to imagine she was allowing all sorts of terrible scenarios and outcomes to plague her just now for this drastic change in her circumstance. As he’d realized already, her face only softened when addressing or looking at her son. No sooner had he thought this than she turned at Henry’s bidding and smiled at something he said. Once again, she was transformed, every line easing, her mouth losing its pinch, her eyes brightening momentarily.

  And then she discovered Alec turned and watching her and her expression shuttered and tightened once more. Alec allowed her the hostility, couldn’t blame her actually. Truthfully, he considered it Malcolm’s chore to rid her of her reservations, a
s he’d been the force behind the drastic change in her life.

  Alec faced forward again.

  Wasn’t his problem.

  And when they reached Swordmair, it would be less his concern. His mother would likely embrace her and her boy, as was her way, would make sure one and all welcomed her properly, would set her up nicely in one of the nearby cottages. Possibly, Alec would have very little to do with her.

  BY EARLY EVENING, LONG past the time she’d thought they might have stopped for the day, Katie’s bum was sore from the hard boards of the wagon bed. The sun had yet to set and she could barely keep her eyes open. As she was accustomed to laboring from sunrise until sunset, she had to imagine that only the constant and even rumbling of the cart was lulling her into sleepiness.

  Even Henry had succumbed to a rare nap, having talked himself out. He curled up next to Malcolm, making use of their stacked linens as a bed and pillow. Malcolm remained wakeful, seeming to take up so much space inside the small vehicle, his legs stretched out so that the bottom of his boots nearly touched Katie’s thigh at the end of the cart. She supposed it was the soldier in him that had made him so alert, his head continually turning, his eyes scanning all the scenery—not, Katie thought, with any interest in the late summer greenery or all the marvelous colors presented by the hills and mountains and lochs, but with an eye toward vigilance, wary of who else might be on the road with them.

  They rode somewhere in the middle of the line of soldiers, their trek neither too fast nor too slow. She’d met the eye of the chief but once, caught him shifted in his saddle and staring at her actually. She wasn’t sure why he bothered her more than any of these MacBriars—save for Eleanor, mayhap—but she found his regard both unnerving and unwanted. She couldn’t say for sure, at any given time, what she read in those piercing hazel eyes.

  A man rode up close to the rear wheel of the wagon, opposite where Katie sat, and smiled at her. Instinctively, she returned the gesture, though with some wariness.