Finding My Highlander

by Aleigha Siron

  Rabbie chocked on an oatcake and motioned with his head, “Your clothes are laid across yon rock by the fire, they are probably dry now. Would you like a bite to eat? ‘Tis not much, but it will quiet your rumbling stomach.” He lifted an oatcake in her direction and discreetly flicked his eyes away from her legs.

  She answered with a dazzling smile. “Thank you kindly, Rabbie.” Her obvious attempt at friendly banter didn’t quell her shaking knees. She squared her shoulders; fear would gain her no consideration with this group. Kendrick pierced her with a hard stare, not blinking or saying anything. Why did he appear so annoyed with her?

  The smile slipped from her face. She held Kendrick’s stare for a second, then tipped her chin ever so slightly, took the oatcake from Rabbie’s outstretched hand, and turned to gather her things. Grabbing her clothes and brocade bag, she rushed back outside. As soon as she moved a few feet beyond the entrance, she sat down and found a clean pair of socks and a clean, dark-green, knit shirt.

  * * *

  Kendrick followed Andra and watched her from a slightly concealed position beside the horses. The sky was turning a pale shade of violet-gray as night shifted to dawn. When her arms reached to pull on her shirt, he noticed a large bruise that wrapped around her side and across her back. No wonder she had winced when he’d held her in his grip during yesterday’s ride. However, she’d never complained, cried, or resorted to hysterics. Not exactly true, but she had exerted some effort at self-control, which spoke well of her strength. The image of last night, when she’d curled her heated body against Lorne’s, flashed to mind. He recognized this method of treating severe chills, but never imagined a woman would expose herself in such a manner.

  Watching her dress, he admired her firm body, long legs, and rounded backside as she pulled on a pair of snug-fitting trews over bewitching pink-blush undergarments so outrageous his sword rose in salute. Everything fit tightly to her body like a second skin. Standing about five and a half feet tall, she was leanly muscled with full breasts and soft curves. Burnished gold and auburn glints streaked her thick, brown hair, still tangled and disheveled from sleep. Its glossy mass spilled just past the fragile wing bones in her smooth back. He felt lecherous staring at her, but couldn’t turn away. His hands tingled with the imagined feel of her silky skin and hair.

  Wearing no chemise, or underlying petticoats, she shook and dusted off the slim-fitted, long, black skirt and pulled it over the trews. She laced up a fine pair of short leather boots and slipped on a fitted leather jerkin. Though fully covered, Andra’s clothing molded scandalously over her breasts, hips and all other body parts. Perhaps it was a new French or Dutch style, both often scandalous.

  “Scandalous be damned,” he growled low in his throat, his manhood firming as he watched her wiggle into her clothes. Her beauty and tantalizing figure rattled him. A primal urge flowed through his veins, and swamped him with a yearning he dared not name.

  He watched Andra nibble the oatcake while hauling her things over a rocky slope to a small clearing near a stand of pine trees where she sank to the ground.

  “What do you think she is doing, casting spells?” Struan harrumphed as the men came beside him to watch her.

  “Nae,” said Rabbie. “It seems she sings to her departed. That looks like a funerary urn she’s holding. I’ve seen them on my travels in Europe. Sometimes they use them to return the remains of fallen warriors to their families.”

  “Strange song and even stranger behavior, and you ken it’s a sin to burn the body. Only witches are burned.” Struan scowled at the lass. He’d never encountered a woman like her before.

  Rabbie interjected before Struan continued. “Nae, they sometimes still burn the remains of fallen warriors when they die far from home. Also, they might burn the remains of plague victims. Mayhap it’s a loved one or family member.”

  “I don’t trust her. It’s witchery, I tell you.” Struan was building up to a full-blown rant about witches. “And when your da and mother hear about her lying with Lorne, there will be hell to pay. He’ll be insistin’ Lorne marry the daft lass, and I can tell you, Laird Keith will not take lightly to his daughter being set aside.”

  Even the suggestion stunned Kendrick. “No one will be insisting anything of the sort. Andra only meant to help him heal. There will be no talk of marriage. In fact, none of us will mention anything about last night to anyone. Is that understood?”

  Rabbie snorted and pulled the reins of his horse forward. “Best get out and see if anyone is on our trail. Are you comin’ along, Struan, or are you staying here ogling the lass?”

  Struan grunted, jerked his head, and mounted his horse. “You’ll be minding your tongue, Rabbie. Let’s get on with it, see if we can find anything out about the wench, and check your snares. We could all use nourishment a bit hardier than oatcakes and dried meat.”

  Kendrick continued to watch Andra as the men rode quietly down the hill. He felt a deep tug in his chest and wanted to take her in his arms and sooth her obvious distress. “Och! What nonsense. What is it about her that is so disturbing?”

  He did not gush over women and their heartaches. He had sealed his heart a long time ago and did not wish to open up to any woman ever again. His first wife came by way of an arranged marriage to quell strife between clans. They only had a year together, but he had come to love her. She was a sweet, biddable lass, and they were both young. However, when she and his newborn son died following the babe’s birth, he shut that door—permanently.

  He turned back to his brother. Kendrick hoped he would wake today and show signs of improvement, so they could head home before more trouble found them.

  Chapter Five

  “Dad, I am certain I’ve lost my mind but from all appearances I have fallen through time and landed in one of your medieval stories of Scotland, rife with fierce and bloodied Highland warriors being hotly pursued by some threat. Rest assured though, I do not plan to play the weak damsel in distress to this band of men. You’d be proud of how well I’ve managed so far, even if part of me still believes I’m in an altered state suffering hallucinations.”

  She pulled the wooden urn from her bag and clutched it to her chest, listening to the sound of birds calling up the day, breathing in the earthy smells, the clean air redolent with tangy pine. How had this happened? She had been sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking San Francisco Bay, she released some of the ashes, and an earthquake tossed her through a time portal.

  Maybe if she laid out all of her things as she had then, she could reverse the process. She laid down the plaid, knelt on the ground, placed the sgian dubh beside her, removed the top of the urn, and reverently touched the Celtic cross at her neck.

  “Okay Dad, I’m leaving your ashes on Scottish soil as you asked, you can send me back anytime now.” She tilted the urn, held her breath, and let the breeze take a small scattering of ashes. It was a bizarre parody of Dorothy clicking her heals saying, “there’s no place like home.”

  To her dismay, nothing happened. She stopped the flow quickly, retaining most of the urn’s contents. She was certain that repeating this action would return her to her own time. If it didn’t work now, she might need the remaining ashes to try again. Quietly she waited. Still nothing happened so she began to sing “Dust in the Wind”, one of her Dad’s favorite songs.

  Her voice seized and a sob escaped as her shoulders began to shake. Her father’s baritone voice filled her head. “Mo àlainn nighean, - my beautiful daughter - always remember, life is precious and short. Live well and fully before it all falls back to dust.”

  Andra heard the horses pass behind her, but refused to look their way, she didn’t care if they left her alone. In fact, she’d relish a bit of quiet without them questioning or casting downright hostile glances at her. What had she done to annoy them? Wasn’t she the victim here? Well, to hell with it, she refused to play victim or fragile, fainting woman to their fierce, manly gruffness. No! She was strong and self-reliant, quite capa
ble of handling herself. At the moment however, her head throbbed again and a light drizzle fell. Time to get on with it. Nothing would be accomplished moping about or sitting out in the rain and catching a cold.

  It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light after reentering the cave. Lorne was still sleeping by the banked fire; she approached him quietly to check his fever, which continued to burn. She rinsed the washcloth with fresh water and gently wiped his face, neck, and arms then reapplied a freshly wrung-out cool cloth to his forehead. At least he wasn’t shaking with chills any longer. That must be a good sign.

  “Oh hell, what do I know about such fevers and wounds? I’ve done my best, Lorne.” She patted him gently and tucked the furs up around his chin.

  When she looked around, it appeared only she and Lorne remained in the hideout. The sound of the waterfall splashing into the largest pool at the back of the cave entered her consciousness. “Well, sir, it seems you are still in the land of dreams and I am sorely in need of a bath.”

  Approaching the large, dark pool below the waterfall, she could see a very faint edge of light at the top of the rock cliff, but she could not discern the size of the pool as the back portion lay beneath a rock overhang where the waterfall cloaked everything in shadow. She quickly stripped to her underwear and stepped onto the rocky edge while unhooking her bra. A sudden movement of water from the shadows at the back of the pool caused Andra to scream. She lost her footing and stumbled forward.

  Emerging from the shadows, Kendrick moved toward her at lightning speed catching her with one hand braced against a shoulder and the other pressed firmly against one breast. Their eyes latched for a few seconds while she struggled to regain her balance. Her hands splayed across his hard, bare chest, the touch scorching. His fingers flexed, increasing the pressure against her flesh. A shocking fire ignited in her; her lips parted as if in invitation before her rational mind and self-preservation kicked into full gear.

  Regaining her senses, Andra moved to Kendrick’s right, lifted her right leg, and with as much strength as she could muster, slashed her foot into the back of his knee. At the same time, she quickly thrust her arms up and out to break his hold on her body and yelled—stop!

  Kendrick lost his footing and fell back with a splash. Andra didn’t wait to assess possible injury. She jumped out of the water, grabbed her things, and made a wild dash outside. The cover of pine trees where she had previously scattered her family’s ashes provided a shelter of sorts, a spot removed where she could calm herself.

  “Damn, damn, damn, and bloody damn!” Andra sputtered and gasped, dancing about from one foot to the other as a fine drizzle turned into a full-fledged downpour while she tried to gain her senses and pull on her clothes.

  When she fell into Kendrick’s arms, her whole body had burned with desire. “What is wrong with me? I’m in the middle of Scotland in God knows what time period with a virile man who sets me on edge with his every glance. Why am I behaving like a foolish teenager?” She didn’t ponder that question further. On edge hardly described the heat she felt in his presence. She needed to stay calm and focused on finding a way to return home, not fantasize about a hot Highlander from the wilds of Scotland.

  “What in heaven’s name am I to do?” she yelled at the gray sky. She seemed to be doing everything wrong so far, despite all her good intentions.

  Yet Kendrick hadn’t forced himself on her. He’d simply tried to stop her fall. Had she overreacted? No doubt, he was now seriously angry with her.

  “What must he be thinking?” First, she heated her near-naked body in front of a fire and snuggled under blankets with his brother, and now she literally threw her again near-naked body into Kendrick’s arms only to execute a perfect swipe and block to knock him back into the water. Women in this time, whatever time it was, did not behave in such a manner. What did they call them? Wanton. He’d think she was a wanton, immoral lunatic.

  She’d only intended to help Lorne when she slipped under the blankets with him, and she certainly had not intended the second event as a come-on. “Hell, I didn’t plan to dump him in the water,” she hissed, “I just ached for a bath.” Well, she was getting a thorough rainwater shower now, evidenced by her soaked clothing.

  She drove the toe of her boot under clumps of pine needles. Why hadn’t he alerted her to his presence before she stripped off her clothing in front of him? “Duh! That isn’t so hard to figure out.”

  Good Lord, but he was handsome, strong, fierce—even a bit amusing. She smacked the side of her head. “Get a grip! And stop talking to yourself!”

  Kendrick had not followed her outside. What if he’d hit his head when he fell? What if even now, his blood seeped out in that damn, rocky pool of water? What if she’d accidentally caused him serious injury? Had he drowned? Her thoughts spun out of control. She had a bad habit of taking every scenario to all of its worst possible conclusions.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God!” She paced the needle-strewn dirt chewing mercilessly at her lip. The clear image of Struan’s leering glee as he tied her to a stake admonishing her for evil intent against their laird filled her jumbled thoughts. Well, no time like the present to face the music, or in this situation, Kendrick’s wrath. At the very least, she needed to pull his drowned body from the water. And she needed to get out of the rain before she ended up sick.

  “If he’s knocked unconscious, what could he do to me, right?” Wrong, most definitely wrong. She could envision few circumstances worse than her current situation or the terror her wild imagination unleashed in her thoughts. She groaned and turned back toward the cave.

  * * *

  Stunned speechless, Kendrick had watched Andra stand on the edge of the pool, disrobing and revealing the curvaceous vision of every man’s dream. Though he knew he should step forward or alert her to his presence, he found himself unable to move, mesmerized by the vixen. Just as she unfastened that lacey bit of silk cupping her deliciously full breasts, his conscience spurred him to step out of the shadows. Her startled scream and sudden catapult off the edge had him rushing to intercept her fall. When his hands landed on her shoulder and one breast, he felt a shock like heat lightening travel between them. He held her steady for barely a second before she became a complete berserker and upended him back into the water.

  “God’s bloody rood, what in the hell just happened?” Kendrick pulled himself out of the water, snatched a piece of linen to dry off with, and started after Andra, his pride and his loins burning with equal intensity. Lorne’s rough, parched voice interrupted his pursuit of the daft woman. “Did a fiery water sprite just best me fierce brother?” he coughed.

  “Lorne, you’re awake. How do you feel?” Kendrick knelt by his brother carefully checking his wounds.

  “Like hellfire,” he croaked, “but I ken you might just be feeling a wee bit of the hellfire yourself.” He coughed, groaned in pain, and closed his eyes. Kendrick lifted a cup of water to Lorne’s lips. “Drink.” His brother took a few sips then slipped into unconsciousness.

  He could do nothing further for Lorne, but he definitely needed to get his wits about him and find Andra. The hand that had caressed her firm, full breast still stung from the warmth of her flesh. She really had felt like a water sprite and moved with such force and power he could almost believe she was not of this world. Seasoned warriors could hardly have executed a more effective disarming. Thank God the other men were not present to see her flip him so easily; he would never live it down. Where had she learned that trick?

  Chapter Six

  Quickly donning his kilt, Kendrick moved to the cave’s entrance and watched as Andra mumbled then smacked the side of her head. She seemed perfectly adept at carrying on her own private conversations. Stomping toward the cave, head bent watching her feet instead of looking forward; she chewed furiously on her full, lower lip. When she finally looked up, her movement ceased abruptly. She stood in the pounding rain like a rabbit frozen in the heather.

  “
You…you are not injured, then? I…I am sorry…m…my laird. You frightened me. I was not aware of your presence in the pool and merely intended to wash.” Her tone betrayed both her irritation and an attempt to mollify him.

  She looked contrite enough, he mused. Nevertheless, he kept a scowl plastered on his face. No sense allowing her to think he would tolerate such outrageous behavior. Still, it was difficult to suppress a slight quiver at the edges of his mouth.

  All efforts of appeasement dropped from her eyes. “Are you smirking at me?”

  “Smirk? I dinnae ken your meaning?” No longer able to contain his amusement, he barked a laugh. “You do remind me of a drowned cat, standin’ there in the pouring rain.” He flicked his fingers encouragingly. “Dinnae fash yourself, come back to the fire,”

  Andra raised a fisted hand, a long, indignant index finger pointing at him as though she were admonishing a bairn. She stiffened her back and thrust up her chin. “Yes, well then, I think you should step back, and let me pass unmolested.”

  No one of his acquaintance would dare question his honor much less admonish him in such a blatant manner. Yet here she stood besmirching his character once again with no provocation. Well, not much provocation at any rate.

  With a voice harsher than he intended, he furrowed his brow, “I dinnae intend to molest you.” He didn’t force himself on women; the idea was abhorrent to him. Still, his mind had easily conjured an image of her writhing beneath him, more than willing to receive his attentions.