HIS HIGHLAND LOVE: His Highland Heart Series Book 2

by Blair, Willa

  “He’ll be fine,” Catherine told Kenneth after another hour.

  “I dinna like the way he keeps getting out ahead,” Kenneth admitted. “If Iain gets in trouble up there, I dinna ken if I can get to him fast enough.”

  “Ye are no’ his only warrior here,” she reminded him. His curt nod had to satisfy her, because he lapsed back into watchful silence. His anxiety for his friend made her stomach sour with guilt. If not for feeling responsible for keeping her safe, he’d be beside his laird, in his rightful place.

  Then she noticed his jaw clench and glanced ahead. Ach, nay. Also mounted, Cam had joined Iain at the head of their column, in what Kenneth regarded as his place. This could only lead to trouble.

  She offered the only solution she could think of. “Go on up to Iain. Send Cam back to me,” she suggested, knowing she was wasting her breath, but tired of the sullen silence Kenneth had fallen into as they rode. What had happened to his lighter mood? Ah, of course. Kenneth could not be in two places at one time. If he could, which would he choose—her or Iain? Right now, he didn’t look as though he felt free to make a choice, he just hated seeing Cam at Iain’s side. She pressed her lips together. If he wanted to ride with Iain, he should go on ahead. Even if she was on foot, she’d be safe in the midst of all these Brodies.

  “Damn him.”

  She gave Kenneth a side-eye glare. After days—and nights—on the road, he still didn’t trust Cam Sutherland. Or perhaps… “All that snarling back there between ye two—will ye never give over? If Cam has no’ harmed me before now, he willna harm me in the midst of yer clansmen, nor let me come to harm, yet ye still dinna trust him around me, do ye?” The thought irritated her, as did the frown that flitted across Kenneth’s face before he turned to look at her.

  “Ye are my responsibility. I’ll no risk ye with anyone else.”

  She nodded. “I thought so. Ye dinna trust him around me.” Or around Iain, apparently.

  Kenneth snorted.

  “Ye needna fash,” she assured him. “Cam is merely the friend of a friend, naught more.”

  Kenneth’s expression remained stony.

  She decided it was time to poke the badger with a stick. “Aye, he’s charming. Ye canna deny it. And he’s full of flattery, which pleases me…”

  He sneered. “So the lads yer da tried to wed ye to didna flatter ye enough to win ye, aye?”

  Her mouth fell open. Yet, what did she expect? Badgers fought back—ferociously—when attacked. Kenneth’s gaze stayed to the front, searching their route for hidden dangers while his words stabbed her through the heart. “Ye canna be serious,” she gasped. “What a horrible thing to say.”

  “Was it? Ye light up when Sutherland speaks to ye. Perhaps ye should turn your attention to him.”

  Instead of me. She heard the words Kenneth didn’t say as loudly and clearly as the ones he actually uttered. After a week of traveling with Cam Sutherland, what had made Kenneth suddenly—finally—admit to his jealousy of the older northerner? Did seeing Cam ride beside Iain really make Kenneth angry enough to finally loosen his hold on his temper and lash out at her?

  Was it truly jealousy? Or was this another attempt to distance himself from her? To make her rethink what he claimed to be her infatuation and childish hero-worship of the friend he had been years ago? She knew he had not been that lad for two years. He’d seen war. And other women. None of it should matter, but she couldn’t escape the heavy sense of dread every time the subject of his past came up.

  She had to set all of those feelings aside. Today, now, Kenneth was here. She needed to know—did he really resent her being here so much?

  “Cameron Sutherland will never be the man ye are,” she ground out. “The man for me.”

  “I think ye are wrong, “ Kenneth responded evenly, not looking at her. “Ye should give him a chance.”

  “And I think ye are trying to make me angry. So I think I’ll go check on the wounded men and let ye sulk by yerself for a while.”

  “Sulk!”

  Kenneth’s outraged objection echoed off the nearby hillside as she turned her mount around and rode to the cluster of men near the end of their column. She would have laughed, but she was too annoyed. So it took accusing him of childish behavior to get through his indifference? To the devil with him.

  The army’s pace was slowed by the men on foot and by the wagon carrying the most badly hurt remaining with them. The worst of the injured had already been sent ahead. Catherine was not naive enough to think all of those men would make it to Brodie, but she wished them well, knowing Iain would worry, and would carry every death on his conscience. Nor did she expect their conveyance, like the horses she and others now rode, would ever be returned to its original owner. Since the horses and wagons were taken from the battlefield, she doubted their owners still lived.

  When she reached the wagon, she gave her mount to a man limping alongside it and climbed in. Two of the men it carried were mercifully asleep—or passed out. One of those tossed his head and moaned when Catherine laid her palm on his forehead. Too warm. He was developing a fever. He needed a healer’s potions, and soon. The other two in the wagon were awake and watched her through pain-filled eyes as she checked their wounds. She’d just finished when Iain rode by, headed, she presumed, for the men guarding their back trail. She called out to him.

  He approached and nodded. “Had enough of Kenneth today, eh?”

  She ignored his comment. “These men should also be sent on ahead,” she told him, kneeling in their midst. She pointed. “That one has a fever, and these two may soon, as well. They need a healer’s care.”

  “They have ye.”

  “And I have naught but a kind word to offer. They need more than I can do for them.”

  Iain’s lips compressed into a thin line. “These men ken I canna split my forces any further without putting everyone at risk, including ye.”

  She straightened on her knees and grasped the wagon’s top rail to steady herself as she squared off with Iain. He wouldn’t take her seriously if she fell onto the men. She held on tight as the jostling of narrow wheels across rough ground nearly pitched her out. “Dinna stint their care because of me,” she said when she steadied. “Kenneth, Cam and I can go on as we arrived, alone.”

  “Some of the clans returning home along the same route are no’ friendly” Iain reminded her.

  “And then there are the gallowglass men,” one of the lucid wounded men added. “They fought with us, but they can, for enough coin, or enough whisky, as easily fight against us.”

  Iain nodded, his expression bleak. “I can only promise we’ll be home in a few days.”

  Catherine dropped her gaze to her hands, conceding defeat. She was worried about these few wounded men, a heavy enough burden. But Iain carried the fates of all of his men—and her safety as well—on his shoulders. She nodded, so he turned his mount away. God willing, the wounded men would survive the trip.

  Before Iain could continue toward the rear, Kenneth rode up and gave him a nod. Then, without warning, he wrapped an arm around Catherine’s waist and pulled her across his lap. In the midst of her spluttered protest, he nodded again to Iain and rode forward. Iain’s laughter curled around them like smoke on a breezy day.

  Despite their earlier argument, Catherine leaned back in Kenneth’s arms, surprised but pleased. Did this mean he was changing his mind about her? She soon dozed, lulled by the rocking rhythm of the horse’s gait, safe and cared for as she’d never dreamed she’d be. Later, they dismounted to let an injured man ride, but Kenneth always insisted on getting Catherine off her feet after a few hours and traded places with a healthy rider. She appreciated his concern, but wondered how many young grooms rode while their masters walked alongside his horse, or rode held secure in their masters’ arms.

  As eager as she was to reach home, she’d prefer to walk than to be seen as getting special favors. Men who needed care still kept pace on foot with their fellow Brodie warriors. When
they stopped for the night, Catherine made a point of visiting each of the walking wounded to check their bandages, care for their wounds as best she was able, and speak with them. She was not trained as a healer, but it took little sense to know wounds should be kept clean, bandages changed, and notice taken if a fever developed. Not that she could do anything about their care except offer cool water to drink, and bathe a sick man’s face with more cool water, but the men seemed to appreciate her efforts. For their sake, the sooner they reached Brodie, the better.

  * * *

  The next day, Sutherland rode back to their camp just before sunset. Kenneth had seen Iain send him off at dawn and suspected he knew the reason why. But his pride was pricked by Iain using this northerner rather than asking him to scout. He’d been at Iain’s side since they were lads. Before he’d run to France, and before Iain sent him to Sterling, he’d been Iain’s second-in-command. He didn’t know what he was to Iain now, and it rankled.

  Truth be told, he knew why Iain didn’t send him on whatever errand he’d sent Sutherland. Iain intended for Kenneth to remain with Cat. To keep her safe. Kenneth was certain Iain believed his arrival with Cat brought more trouble to the army than good. And perhaps he’d picked up on the tension between Kenneth and Sutherland over her. So Iain made a choice—one Kenneth could hardly fault. Cat was his responsibility, and if anything happened to her, neither he nor Iain would be welcome at Brodie upon their return. Iain’s wife Annie, Cat’s middle sister, would see to that. She’d make Iain’s life hell, and Kenneth’s even worse. He didn’t know what would be worse than hell, but Annie would contrive to create it.

  Aye, he’d been a fool. Cat was in danger here, yet she would have been no safer, had he left her behind without a host of Brodie warriors to protect her, without even him. At best she would have found herself a guest of the bishop, trapped inside the castle. At worst? Kenneth didn’t want to consider the worst. Death would have come to her as a blessing.

  He hated to admit Sutherland had been right about finding a ship. If only they’d been able to sail for home and avoid all this. He hated that Cat had seen the destruction wrought by Mar’s caterans and heard the men’s tales of Red Harlaw. No lass should be exposed to such brutality. Thank the saints she was made of stern stuff. Any other lass would have swooned or dissolved into tears and hysterics. Not his Cat. Kenneth’s gaze slipped to the side to take in the Brodie encampment and the smoke signaling other camps beyond the hills. But, she was a lass surrounded by men and…

  Sutherland.

  Kenneth watched him report to Iain, then dismount and hobble his horse with the others. He narrowed his eyes at the man’s long-strided approach. Cat hadn’t seen Sutherland yet. Her back was to him. She faced the small cooking fire Kenneth had built for her to make broth for the man with the fever and venison stew for the rest of the injured men. She maintained those two things would do the men more good than water, ale or whisky, and who was he to argue?

  Kenneth, however, sat at an angle to Cat and the fire and so had a clear view. As Sutherland came closer, his gaze never left Cat. Kenneth’s jaw clenched, recalling how Cat had defended Sutherland and claimed Kenneth was jealous. And how he’d told her perhaps she’d be better off with Sutherland than continuing to pine after him. What a fool he was.

  “Ah, Lady Catherine, is the mouth-watering scent coming from yer cook pot for me?”

  Cat started at the sound of Sutherland’s voice behind her and turned to regard him as he joined them at the fire.

  He took a seat on her opposite side and gave Kenneth a nod.

  “Nay, ’tis for the sick and injured,” Cat informed him, then raised a brow. “Ye are neither.”

  “No’ for lack of trying, but thank the saints, ye speak true. Ye are an angel of mercy, lovely Catherine. If ye were no’ already spoken for, I’d be tempted to offer for ye, myself.”

  Kenneth surged to his feet at Sutherland’s ill-considered words. “She is—”

  “I am no’ spoken for,” Cat interrupted, giving Kenneth a slant-eyed glance, then returning her gaze to Sutherland.

  Kenneth’s heart fell to his feet at Sutherland’s immediate grin.

  “Indeed?” Sutherland’s gaze slid from Cat to Kenneth and his brow arched. “Ye led me to believe ye were married. How convenient, aye Brodie?”

  “I am, however,” Cat continued with a glare at Sutherland that did Kenneth’s heart good, “no’ interested in being any man’s property, so ye can get any such idea right out of yer head.”

  Well, he liked that she’d put Sutherland down, but not the way she’d done it. Not interested, was she? Kenneth would have sworn she’d spent the entire trip trying to convince him to renew his offer to her father. To make her his. She’d tried everything but standing before him, nude, and tearing his clothes away. The closer they got to Rose, the more likely she’d turn to something like that as her last resort. Kenneth was looking forward to seeing what she’d try—until he recalled her challenge for him to teach her the skills used by the French mademoiselles. He ran a hand through his hair, imagining Cat on her knees before him, or draped over the side of a bed, her skirts tossed up over her back. Dear God, if he wasn’t careful, Sutherland would see on his face what he was thinking…and so would Cat. He forced his gaze from her to Sutherland.

  “Where did Iain send ye?” It pained him to ask, but he had to change the subject.

  “To catch up with Domnhall or one of his lieutenants. To see where they are headed—back to Dingwall or on to Islay. They’re going to Dingwall to consolidate Domnhall’s hold on Ross. I told the Brodie. He seemed pleased at the news.”

  He would. Domnhall’s attention would stay well to the west of Brodie—and, he hoped, Rose—territory. Kenneth nodded and caught Cat’s eye. “Given that news, it might be best if we ride north to the firth, then west along the coast past Brodie to Rose, well away from what remains of Domnhall’s army. I dinna ken how well yer…disguise…will hold up if any of his men get too close.”

  “And the sooner we go, the better,” Sutherland added, standing.

  “No’ now.” Cat looked up at him and raised a hand. “’Tis time I see to the men.”

  Sutherland took her hand and helped her to her feet with a smile that made Kenneth’s jaw clench. He didn’t like to see the other man’s hands on her, even for something so innocent. Somehow, with Sutherland, nothing seemed innocent.

  Cat nodded her thanks, then bent and pulled the cook pot from the fire. She ladled rich broth from the top of the pot into one cup, then dug deeper and filled other cups with the heartier stew of meat and barley. “If we go, who will care for the injured until they reach Brodie?” She spoke without looking up from her task.

  She had a point, but… “Surely for the next few days someone else can do what ye have been doing.” Kenneth gained his feet, conscience pricked by her concern for his clansmen. He reached for a cup. “I’ll help ye with these.” Kenneth couldn’t help but be impressed by Cat’s devotion to the Brodie wounded. She was more than the spirited daughter of a difficult laird. She cared what happened to these men.

  Sutherland frowned. “Who will care for them if ye are taken by another clan and more Brodies are hurt or killed attempting to defend ye?”

  “’Twill no’ come to that,” Kenneth objected. “But I agree remaining with the army is dangerous. We can travel faster on our own. We’ll leave tonight.”

  “Nay!” Cat surged to her feet, ladle dripping broth in one hand.

  “We must, Cat, and well ye ken it. The men will survive until a Brodie healer can care for them.” Or they wouldn’t. He would spare her the reminder. Mentioning the possible outcomes would only hurt her. They had to go. The risk to Cat of remaining in the midst of Domnhall’s men was too great.

  “What if some of the army has gone the way ye plan to go?”

  Kenneth shook his head. “They willna—they’ll follow Domnhall.”

  With a frown, she returned the ladle to the pot, gestured for th
e men to carry the other cups, and headed for the wagon with the cup of broth for the man with the fever. Kenneth exchanged a shrug with Sutherland and they followed.

  * * *

  Catherine knelt over her patient, lifted his head and dribbled broth between his lips, grateful when he swallowed it. She knew she was running out of time. If they left tonight and traveled without stumbling into any remnants of Domnhall’s army, they could reach Rose in two or three more days—or nights. If her idea to seduce Kenneth was going to work, she needed time alone with him. Could she convince Cam to stay with Iain? Or to go on ahead on his own, to make for the nearest port and sail north to Sutherland? Left to their own devices, she and Kenneth would be fine. Better than fine, if she got her way. But everything hinged on convincing Cam to leave them.

  Should she just tell him what she meant to do? He behaved as though he had designs on her. But she didn’t return his interest, and, despite his teasing, which she sensed was aimed at Kenneth more than her, he knew that, too. Would he cooperate, or would he tell Kenneth what she intended?

  She clenched her fist, which made her grip the cup of broth even more tightly. It was hot, but thankfully, not enough to burn her skin—or her patient. She couldn’t risk scalding the fevered man she was trying to save. She sighed and forced herself to relax. But her patient started tossing his head. He felt nearly as hot as the cup in her other hand, and she feared he was becoming delirious. If so, he wouldn’t live much longer, no matter what she did. But before she could move away from him, Kenneth joined her on his other side, squeezing with care between the fevered man and the man next to him. Kenneth took his head in both hands and stroked carefully while speaking softly. In moments, the man calmed. Kenneth lifted his gaze and nodded for Catherine to try again to get the man to drink. She did and he took a few sips, but then sighed and went boneless.

  Kenneth lowered the man’s head and shrugged. “Passed out again. Yer broth may have helped him some.”

  “I fear ’twas no’ enough to do him much good,” she replied. “But I thank ye for calming him. We’ll try again when he next wakes.”