The Love of Her Life (Highlander Heroes Book 6)

by Rebecca Ruger

  Farquhar had come then, stealing any time for reflection over his reaction to her happiness. Her merriment had been exhilarating, in that he somehow knew she might so rarely have cause to be so engaged. Not like that, not that full and lustrous sound, which came from the belly, and with no sense of impropriety, no call to hold herself back as he was sure she regularly did.

  When the fight had come to them today, he’d easily dispatched the first aggressors, believing it would end as quickly as it had begun, and they’d be on their way again within minutes. But then he’d caught sight of a band of English charging into the trees where Malcolm, Katie, and the others had hidden. He gave chase immediately, shouting out to Elle and Aymer to take charge there, and had raced headlong into the woods after them. Malcolm, Fergus, and John were holding their own, as the English had split up, some taking on Alec’s men at the edge of the trees while others continued into the woods.

  Alec had joined the fight eagerly, his frustration rising to fury when Malcolm had called out to him amid the fray, “They’re chasing her and the boy into the woods.”

  His blood had run cold and he’d wasted no time, pressing his heels to the destrier’s flanks with a loud snarl for his rising wrath, and had gone deep into the woods in furious pursuit. Two of the five English chasing Katie and Henry were easily and swiftly destroyed, though he’d been forced to abandon first his horse and then his sword when his fury saw it struck so far into the man and the tree into which he’d skewered him. His axe had been left inside some man’s head, Alec not even daring to waste mere seconds to wrest it free. Bereft of weapons then, he’d employed stealth and thankfully had found Katie before the English might have.

  But then...

  Well then, proximity was a dastardly thing.

  Possibly she was not even aware that her fingers had curled into the sleeves of his tunic, that she held him close. She’d been so small and terrified but then so readily calmed with only his presence, her body soft and warm, pressed against the length of him. Jesu, and her lips were...so close, so damn tempting.

  It was her faith in him that had stirred him primarily, he realized. When he’d first wrested her back against the tree, sorry for the fright he’d caused her, she’d lost a substantial amount of fear at recognizing it was he who’d accosted her. She didn’t like him, didn’t truly want to be traveling to Swordmair, thought him a tyrant in all probability, but she believed he would keep her safe.

  That had elicited some powerful emotions inside him. Proximity had done the rest, bringing the scent of her to him—not fear, but woman. Her briefly trembling lips had beckoned him, their shape tempting, their promise unknown but stirring him to curiosity.

  Stop! He reproached himself, not allowing any further recollection, denying it each time it begged to resurface.

  When the sun had been gone for some time and all the light of day disappeared, he reined in the entire party at the base of the Clachan Hills, near a long and narrow loch that he thought might be Loch Kern. If so, they could conceivably make Swordmair on the morrow, late, if they rode hard. As it was, the condition of the group suggested a slower pace would need to be set and they would spend yet another night camped under the stars before finding home.

  It was a busy camp then, as there were still wounded men that needed attention and some sort of sustenance to be prepared and consumed; horses needed tending and Alec spent some private time with Malcolm, in heated discussion over their disappointment in today’s behavior of this portion of their army.

  When the camp settled down, Alec found sleep near the Olivers, making a pallet for himself directly beneath the wagon in which they slept, wanting to be close should she wake.

  She did, but much later. As Alec had yet to sleep, he was aware of a creaking of the boards, suggesting some movement above him. He listened for a moment to determine if this were only ordinary nighttime adjustments or if Katie might be awake.

  “Henry?” He heard her call softly.

  Alec made to move just as the lad answered, immediately and with nary a hint of grogginess that Alec wondered if he’d slept yet at all either.

  “Does it hurt?” Henry wanted to know.

  “It does, but not too much,” Katie said.

  Alec remained still and listened.

  “I’m sorry if you were made afraid,” she said to her son.

  “I was no’ afraid for me, Mam. I was safe with all of them.”

  “Aye, that is good.”

  “Alec said you’d no’ die, so I just felt bad that...it looked like it should hurt a lot.”

  “Did you help with the sewing?”

  “Alec did that,” Henry informed her, adding, “but you’re no’ going to like his stitches. They’re kinda sloppy.”

  Alec rolled his eyes at the little traitor but pictured Katie showing a grin.

  “He did his best, I’m sure.”

  “I guess. He should practice more though.”

  She let out a quiet chuckle. “Let’s hope he has no further need, aye?”

  “Mam?” Henry had whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why are we going with them? I...I thought you dinna like them.”

  There was a great pause before she answered.

  “I do not dislike them.” A small sigh preceded the rest of her answer. “Truth be known, Henry, it wasn’t safe for us at Dalserf. And you know as well as I, the people were not especially friendly.”

  “They call you a witch,” her son said, his tone laced with confusion. The fact that he didn’t negate her statement about their safety suggested he understood this as well.

  “Aye, they do. Be that as it may, we’ve been promised something better at Swordmair—”

  “I like that name.”

  “It’s nice, I guess. I’m sure there is some meaning behind it. Won’t it be nice, though, to have full bellies and warm beds and...and maybe some friends?”

  “Will you still be the healer, though? Will we have to live far away from everyone?”

  “I will still be the healer, they’ve said they need one. I’m not sure though where we might live, mayhap close enough to the castle or village that you can make friends, close enough to feel some security.” She paused and then added, “Henry, if I’m...wrong about these men, if they mean us harm, we will have to get away from them.”

  “I dinna think they will,” Henry said, his tone suggesting he was or had given it some thought. “I think they like us.”

  “I’m sure they like you, love. How could they not?”

  Alec liked her nighttime voice, liked how sweet and smooth it was, imagined her face worry free and soft as well. He was sorry, though, that she was still suspicious of their motives or their intentions.

  They were quiet for a while until Henry spoke again.

  “Would Father have saved us? If he’d been here today.”

  “Aye, he would have. He could handle a sword as well as any of the MacBriars, better mayhap. He’d have slayed each and every one of those English, mayhap all by himself.”

  “Aye, and you’d no’ have been shot by an arrow if he’d been here?”

  “Almost certainly not,” Katie answered, her voice wavering. “He would have kept us safe. He’d not ever allow another to harm a hair on either my head or yours.”

  They were quiet after the small exchange, and Alec mulled it over a wee bit, deciding he truly didn’t know what to make of her continued adoration for a man who had been gone for seven years.

  Chapter Seven

  Katie rose with the sun, stiff and sore, from both being prone for so many hours and for the hole in her shoulder.

  While Henry slept still, she scooted out of the wagon, sorry to leave the warmth of the provided furs, and headed off into the thicker brush away from the camp. A quick glance around a nearly dead fire showed the MacBriars had made their own beds on the ground, some bunched together, others singular, mayhap cold now.

  When she’d taken care of her private business, not
without difficulty, she continued up a small slope and discovered a loch of fresh blue-gray water. Not wanting to be gone too long, for fear that Henry might wake and worry, Katie quickly washed her hands and face. She did the best she could, unable to use both hands to scoop up the water, her shoulder being very sore just now. She used her good arm to pull the tie from her hair so that it fell over her shoulder as she dragged the band away. She would task Henry with helping her do something with the mass of it when he woke.

  She meant to find her cloak, as her slashed and drooping gown exposed all of her shoulder. The MacBriar had sliced the fabric from its neckline and downward several inches that it gaped away from her skin, showing all of her shoulder and the top of her arm. The kirtle beneath, its strap cut as well, hung loosely, almost uselessly, dropping lower under her gown with even her careful movements this morning.

  Soon enough she returned to the wagon, tiptoeing as she drew nearer, for all the sleeping bodies.

  Alec MacBriar stood beside the vehicle.

  “Dinna go off without telling someone.”

  It took a moment for his words to register. She might have understood them sooner but that he stood beside the wagon bare-chested. He must have just washed up himself, as his chest and arms and face were wet yet, while he used his plaid to dry himself. Wordlessly, having yet to respond to his suggestion, her transfixed gazed followed his hands as they moved the plaid up and down his heavily muscled arms and across wide shoulders, perfectly square and large enough to encroach into his neck. His naked chest was as thick and well-honed, sculpted to rock hardness, and her thoughts carried her back to when he’d pressed himself against her behind that tree yesterday. All that virile beauty had been within her reach then.

  Her lips parted just as his hands stopped moving. Katie stared at his fingers, clutching folds of the plaid and she wondered—

  He’d stopped moving. This dawned on her.

  Sweet Jesus. Startled, she lifted her gaze to his and her cheeks heated instantly. She’d just been caught nearly drooling over his magnificent form. She waited—prayed—for the ground to open beneath her. It did not, that she blinked several times and clamped her lips, trying to recall what he’d said.

  He lifted a brow at her, the only indication that he might give her grief for gawking at him so...ravenously.

  Before he might have spoken, she realized what words he’d used to greet her this morn and feigned a bristle. “Am I to request a partner when seeing to my needs?”

  He let a moment pass before he responded, let his compelling and curious eyes disturb her a bit more. “Just tell someone you’re heading away from camp, that’s all.”

  She nodded tightly, made sour by her inexcusable gaffe, yet felt duty-bound to say, “Thank you for...what you did yesterday. For...all your help.” She shifted a wee bit, so that he and his naked chest weren’t directly in front of her. She wished he’d return his tunic to his gorgeous body.

  “Sore now?” He wondered.

  She nodded. “But no more than expected.” Against her will, as if she physically couldn’t prevent it, her regard was drawn again to him.

  He inclined his head but offered nothing else. He was staring at her hair, making her very self-conscious about it, having it loose. It fell nearly to her waist, great tangles of hair and dirt and whatever else she’d picked up from the forest floor yesterday. Her cheeks pinkening, she felt obliged to explain, “I cannot put it back up.” She lifted her right arm until pain made her stop, indicating her dilemma.

  He shook his head and moved his lips, jerking his gaze from her hair, meeting her eye with some awkwardness, she thought.

  “It’s fine, aye,” he murmured. Finally he tossed the plaid on the siderail of the cart and pulled his tunic over his head.

  He continued to hold her in his gaze, his expression inscrutable. The morning light cast the whole of him in shades of gray, darkening his eyes.

  Katie shifted, muttering a getaway excuse, uncomfortable with his prolonged and silent regard. “I should see if—”

  He spoke at the same time, as soon as she made to move around him. She lifted her face again, not hearing what he’d just said. “What?”

  “I should have kissed you.”

  Katie blinked. Her lips parted.

  “What?”

  “You said so yourself.”

  “I...I did?” Inwardly, she winced. She might have some vague and dastardly recollection of that.

  He didn’t grin or show any sign of overconfidence but was matter-of-fact when he confirmed this. “Aye, you did.”

  “Mayhap I was delirious?” Wretched, rising blush!

  “I dinna think so. Those were fairly clear and explicit instructions on wound care.”

  “Were they?” No other part of her body moved, save her lips. She could not even force her gaze away from his, ’twas like watching the battle yesterday: it was shocking and gut-wrenching, but she couldn’t look away, had to see what happened.

  “Aye.”

  She nodded, too quickly mayhap, too shakily. “I suppose it must have been rather coherent for you to have done such a fine job with my care. It bleeds not—"

  “You’re changing the subject,” he accused, his voice steady and low, all of him so...intense.

  “I am trying.”

  Do I want him to kiss me? Ignoring her statement to him, as she had throughout the night, meant that this question remained unanswered.

  Alec MacBriar stepped forward.

  Katie held up her hand, breathing a wee bit raggedly, and stepped back. She gave all her attention to the ground.

  “Changing your mind now?”

  “I am...I do not want to be kissed,” she decided.

  “Perhaps you will no’ ken for certain until I actually do kiss you.”

  “I do not think it works like that.” She recognized that her voice had risen an octave.

  “Let’s find out.”

  “Why—why would you want to kiss me? I was under the impression you didn’t like me at all.”

  She sensed, rather than saw, his head shake. “I dinna understand it either. Yet...something draws me to you.”

  “Maybe too long away from home and...female company?” She was proud of herself, having lifted her gaze as high as his arm.

  “Lass, that’s no’ the—”

  “Bluidy hell. Either kiss the lass or cease with the yapping.”

  Katie startled, recognizing Malcolm’s voice. More heat rose in her cheeks, coloring them blood red, no doubt.

  “Ye ken some people are trying to get their last winks in?”

  That was Aymer, Katie thought, her mortification expanding immeasurably.

  “Who does that?” This voice clearly belonged to Fergus. “Talks about kissing before actually kissing?”

  With a whimper of humiliation, Katie finally met Alec’s dark eyes again, sending him a pleading look, begging him to alleviate this embarrassment.

  He was smiling at her now, beautifully if maddeningly, apparently not at all shamed by this situation.

  “Mayhap you lads can help her decide,” he suggested, calling over his shoulder.

  His smile, wide and natural, the first she’d known from him, was absolutely mesmerizing.

  And yet...’twas but a game, it seemed.

  Oh. She lifted her hand and covered her mouth, as understanding dawned.

  He was but toying with her.

  How foolish she was.

  How awful he was!

  Without a backward glance, she stomped away from him, from the entire camp, stalking into the trees closest to the wagon.

  I hate him. I knew I did.

  She could not say if it were the degradation or the disappointment that misted her eyes. She snarled with ill humor when she was smacked in the face by a low-hanging pine bough. “Argh!”

  But she marched on, wanting to be as far away as possible, thinking it would serve him—all of them—right if she were gone for hours and held up their leave-taking.r />
  A yip of dread emerged when she heard him, Alec, calling her name. She would swear to God she detected laughter still in his tone. She moved faster, pushing through the brush, holding her arm gingerly at her chest, and then tripping over a hidden root that she went flying forward.

  Strong hands saved her, seizing her around her waist from behind, righting her. She stumbled backward now against his hard body. When her feet were solid beneath her, she swiveled and pushed off him, crying, “Get your hands off me.” Facing him, she slapped him across his cheek. But she’d had to use her left hand, and the slap was awkward, glancing off his chin. He barely flinched, his face wasn’t thrown to the side. Huffing and seething, she railed at him. “You are despicable. You can unhitch those wagons. I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t want my son within spitting distance of the likes of you.”

  “Will you listen? Can I explain?”

  “You cannot! There is no justification for such a shameful hoax.” Why—why!—could she not have raged at him without sobbing like a forlorn child? Through quivering lips, she accused in a small voice, “You are a wretch. A miserable wretch.” And she hated herself just then, for her weakness, for letting him see it. But then she was pleased that she recognized it quickly enough to put a stop to it. Purposefully, she gathered strength from every corner of her body. She straightened her back and lifted her chin.

  He lowered his brows. “That was no’ a hoax!”

  “I meant what I said. Either unhitch those wagons and leave us be or return us to Dalserf.” Her voice was calm and clear.

  “Cease!” He said curtly. “I’m sorry the whole damn thing was overheard. I never meant that—”

  “You understand I will believe nothing you say? And I will care even less?”

  “Aye, but you’re the wretch then, that you’ll no’ even let a man defend himself.”

  “There is no defense. I understand exactly what just happened.” If her wound would have allowed it, she’d have crossed her arms over her chest, would have closed him out completely.

  And now she was calm, and he was yelling.

  “You dinna understand! You are embarrassed by their taunting and you’re taking it out on me. You think I’d have wanted an audience when the chances of rejection were so high?”