A Highlander's Captive

by Aileen Adams

  “Aye, he might have died. I would go so far as to say he came close, lass. As did ye.”

  “Why? Why would he jump into the water after me?” She turned to Alec. “He loathes me. Detests me. My family, my clan. Why would he risk his life to save me?”

  Alec sighed, and it was clear from the sound of it—along with the look on his face, which spoke of a man who wished he’d not spoken at all—that he regretted his words. “Do ye truly believe he detests ye, lass?”

  “Aye. Very much.”

  “He detests Ian. Let us make that clear now. Truth be told, so do I. There is little love in my heart for a man who would act as he has.”

  She held her tongue before agreeing and making a fool of herself. Of course, she felt the same. She was not a cruel, heartless creature. She’d never allowed blind loyalty to stand in the way of seeing what was right and what was wrong.

  Others did. Her brothers, for instance. They would stand by Ian no matter what he did, because they were too weak and stupid to do otherwise. They would follow him straight into the fires of Hell and say they’d done it out of loyalty to the clan rather than admit how pitiful they were.

  “But lass, a man willing to throw himself from a bridge into raging flood water does not hate the woman he’s gone in after.”

  She thought about this, considering carefully. It was something she realized she wanted to believe. She wanted to very much, in fact. He might not hate her, after all.

  But what difference was it if he did or not?

  “Nay,” she decided finally. “I do not agree with ye.”

  “Och, ye dinna, then?” he asked with a soft chuckle. “Fair enough. Ye are entitled, I would say. Pay no mind to the fact that I’ve known the man a great deal longer than ye have. I suppose I know nothing.”

  “Has he ever treated ye like he hated ye?” she asked.

  “Nay, I canna say that he has.”

  “Has he ever bound your wrists together, so tight ye lost feeling in your hands?”

  “Nay, though, to be fair, I never held a dirk to this throat.”

  She was grateful for the darkness which concealed her flushed cheeks. “Ye never feared for your life around him, either.”

  “That is not true,” he murmured. “I did, though not in the way ye mean it.”

  “Ye fought together, then.”

  “Side by side. That is how I know him. How I can say with confidence that he would not throw himself into a flooded river for someone he hated. If believing he does makes things somehow easier for ye, I canna tell ye to think otherwise.” He leaned back against his saddle, crossing his long legs before him at the ankle.

  Make things easier for her? How in the world would his hatred make things easier? The lad did not make the slightest bit of sense, though it was clear from the snide tone of his voice that he thought he was quite wise.

  She returned her attention to Rufus rather than arguing the point any further. “I can watch him, if ye wish to sleep.”

  “Are ye certain? Ye ought to be sleeping, yourself.”

  “I’ve slept enough. I could not possibly sleep any longer.” She looked at him, nodding. “Go on. Rest. Ye deserve it after rescuing us.”

  “It was nothing,” he assured her, folding his arms and closing his eyes. It took mere moments for his snoring to begin, as though he had only been awaiting permission to fall asleep.

  She was alone, or as good as. None of them would know if she got up, ran away. They were on the other side of the Tay at last, with the Cairngorns within spitting distance. She could make it, so long as she followed the stars and allowed them to guide her way.

  They were bright, too, bright and twinkling and all but beckoning her through gaps in the trees overhead. Not a cloud in the sky. Nothing but peace and quiet and the chance to escape, finally.

  What stopped her?

  Why could she not rise from her place on the ground, between Alec and Rufus?

  Why did she spend the entire night, until the sky began to lighten, sitting by Rufus’s side in case he should awaken and wonder where she was?

  16

  His first thought on waking was of her.

  His mind came back to him before his eyes opened, and he heard the many sounds of the woods, birds twittering, squirrels scratching and foraging, the branches of what smelled like pine trees tapping against each other when a sweet breeze blew through.

  And he thought of her. Where was she?

  His eyelids had somehow been replaced with two pieces of lead. He could not pry them open no matter how he tried. When he lifted his hands to his face, he was certain he’d find something covering his eyes. This was not the case. They felt the same as they ever did.

  “He’s waking up.”

  Davina. Oh, the relief. She had lived, and she sounded strong. As ever. Memories of her strength in spite of fear and exhaustion came back to him, stirred the embers of his heart to life. A brave lass, indeed.

  Rustling near him, and the sense of someone kneeling at his side. “Rufus. Can ye hear me?”

  He opened his mouth, but could not seem to make words come out. His throat worked, yet nothing resulted.

  “Do not tire yourself,” she whispered, sliding her hand beneath his head. It was nice. Reassuring. His connection to something other than himself, a reminder that he lived. “Drink this. It is just water, but ye have not had so much as a sip in almost a day.”

  A day? He had been asleep for that long?

  She lifted something to his lips, and he drank eagerly once the cool water flowed into his mouth and down his throat. The sweetest water he’d ever tasted, a miracle. It might as well have been a fine wine.

  Once he’d swallowed it down, he whispered. “Thank ye.”

  “You’ve nothing to thank me for,” she reminded him, lowering his head. He caught her hand in his before she released him, holding tight for a silent moment before letting go. As though he needed to prove to himself that she was there, really and truly, something solid rather than a mere voice in his head.

  She was alive. He had succeeded.

  How would he ever find the words to tell her the horror which had washed over him when he thought she was dead and gone?

  Then again, did he have to find the words at all? Was it necessary to tell her of the agony he’d suffered in those moments which had seemed to stretch into eternity? Whenever her head would sink beneath the surface, and he’d be certain she would never come up again?

  No. She did not need to know, and he certainly had no right unburdening himself in such a manner. It would not be proper—or warranted, as the threat had come and gone and they were both still alive to fight another day.

  “Can ye open your eyes?” Drew, crouching on his other side. “Not that I have any desire to gaze deep into them, mind ye, but it would do my heart a bit of good to know ye could still see.”

  “Why would I wish to see ye?” he asked, his voice little more than the croaking of a frog. Even so, he opened his eyes to find his cousin grinning down at him.

  “There ye are. Good to have ye back with us, lad.” Drew clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Very good, indeed.”

  “Did… ye say a day?” Rufus asked, looking to Davina.

  She nodded. “Aye. A day since we took a swim in the Tay.”

  He looked at her then, truly studied her and saw what a state she was in. Her face was clean enough, as were her hands, but her hair was a mass of dried mud, sticking out in all directions. Her clothing was ruined, her dress nothing like the pale blue it had once been.

  “I cut your skirts,” he recalled.

  “Aye, that ye did,” she confirmed with a rueful grin. “Though I canna hardly blame ye for it.”

  “Do ye have any others? Dresses, I mean?”

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “Not with me, of course. Have ye seen me traveling with anything but myself and the clothing on my back? All of it was packed on my mare, but the mare is long gone.”

  “I’m sorry,
lass.”

  “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Though I must say, I did not know ye knew the words. This is the first time I’ve ever heard ye say them.”

  He growled. “All right, then. A fine lass ye are, making jest of a man who might be on his deathbed.”

  “Deathbed?” Drew snorted. “You’re a long way from that, lad.”

  “Aye? I dinna feel it,” Rufus admitted. He felt as weak as a newborn bairn, truth be told, though he would not mutter such sentiments in front of a woman for all the gold in the world.

  “If ye are half as weak and tired as I was, it isn’t a wonder ye would think so.” Davina clicked her tongue, a sympathetic sound.

  “Tis a wonder ye managed to call out loud enough for us to hear ye,” Drew observed. He looked down at Rufus. “I’m not ashamed to tell ye, I thought we had lost ye both. We searched for hours, well into the afternoon. That ye fought your way out of the water at all is a miracle in itself, but that we found ye? Ye know I dinna happen to be a churchgoing man, but it’s enough to make me think twice about attending services.”

  “Are ye certain the building would not topple down on your head if ye tried?” Rufus snorted.

  “Aye, but we all know how hard a head I happen to own,” Drew laughed. “It would not harm me.”

  Exhaustion closed in on all sides like a sudden storm bearing down on him, and his eyes began to close before he knew what was happening. “So tired,” he murmured, his voice thick.

  “Sleep, then,” Davina whispered. “We shall be here when ye wake.”

  And they were. The next time his eyes opened, it had gone from day to night, with a fire blazing merrily away and the scent of roast venison hanging in the air. His mouth watered, his stomach growling at the merest suggestion of food.

  “Och, there he is,” Tyrone announced. “Our hero. Ye must be starved, man.”

  “I am,” he agreed as he tried to work his way into a sitting position. In a flash, Davina was by his side. She’d bathed, he noted, her hair no longer matted down with mud.

  And she wore a pair of trews, likely one Drew had spared her from the extra clothing in his pack—he was the smallest man present—along with a tunic which she’d belted around her waist. It still hung on her like a sail, billowing when she moved, but she did not look altogether odd. In fact, the garments suited her better than a dress ever had.

  “Ye need to take care with yourself now,” she warned, helping him as well as she could.

  “Damn it all, woman, I will not be fussed over like a bairn,” he growled, trying to wave her away. She would not be put off by his protestations, weak and pitiful as they were.

  He would never be rid of her now that he’d saved her life. This much was certain.

  Clyde presented him with a large slab of meat, sizzling and fragrant, and Rufus wasted no time pulling it apart with his fingers and teeth.

  “Who caught this?” he asked between bites, licking the juices from his fingertips before pulling more from the bone.

  “Alec, and would it not be a fine thing if we all were taken in for poaching?” Tyrone asked.

  “I would like to see a man try to hold me to charges of poaching,” Alec grumbled. “We have a sick man here. He needs sustenance, and a bit of roasted hare will not do.”

  “No one will know,” Davina murmured. “Do not worry yourself over it. Thank ye for going to the trouble.”

  Alec fairly glowed with pleasure, and Rufus found it difficult to keep a straight face. It was so easy for a woman to work her way around a man’s defenses, especially when she happened to be bonny and pleasant.

  And when she had nearly died. He suspected she brought out protective feelings in all of the men, not just in himself.

  Once he’d eaten his fill, he got up and tested his legs before going to attend to his needs. He found the stream nearby, stooping to wash himself and marveling at how weak he still felt. He had always seen himself as a strong man, perhaps stronger than most, yet it now took a moment to catch his breath before returning to camp.

  Strange things happened to a man when he thought he was moments away from death. Strange, powerful things. The sort of thoughts and questions he normally did not give a moment’s time to suddenly came floating up to the surface, crowding in on him until he could barely breathe.

  Questions of loyalty. Of the true nature of one’s allegiances. Of who one could trust.

  Of who one wished to be.

  He’d been through this before, naturally. When he’d fallen on the field of battle, knowing the horse bearing down on him would make contact with some part of his body. In that single moment of certainty, his body hitting the ground with a thud, the frantic attempt to roll away before he was crushed, he’d had time to ponder many things.

  One ought not ponder the nature of his life at such a moment, but that was the truth of it. When one’s life appeared to be ending, one tended to question whether what he’d done had been worthwhile.

  He liked to believe he’d lived a decent life. He had never cheated another man, he’d never inflicted punishment on those undeserving of his ministrations. He’d tried to be good in all the ways which truly mattered—perhaps not very good in other ways.

  Otherwise, he’d done what was right and fair. He’d lived by a certain code taught to him by his father, and it had never failed him.

  It was not so much concern for himself which had plagued him in those panicked moments, struggling to keep his head above water and to find her. To save her.

  No. It was her. She was most on his mind, her safety the most important thing when what ought to have been most important was his life.

  His family depended on him. Their legacy. His brother’s birthright, the continuation of the bloodline.

  Instead of protecting himself to ensure justice was done, he’d thrown himself into the river to save her. This woman, this MacFarland. His enemy.

  Her laughter rang out like a bell, and Drew’s pleasant tenor voice rose above it. He was singing another of his songs, and from the sound of Davina’s giggling, it was evidently one of the bawdier tunes he knew.

  His enemy, sitting at the fire with his cousin and trusted friends, now protected by them after coming so close to death.

  17

  “I believe Killiecrankie is the next closest village. We might make it there not much past midday, if we start at dawn.”

  Rufus nodded at Alec’s assessment. “Aye. That’s what we’ll do, then.”

  “Are ye certain—” Davina began, but silenced herself when she took note of the sharp look Rufus directed her way. It was not her place to question whether he was up to the task of riding a half day, though the concern was very real. Fatigue still plagued her, and she had not fought half as hard as he had to swim through the flood.

  But he was a man, with a man’s pride. He would fall from the saddle and crack his stubborn head open on a rock before admitting it might not be in his best interest to ride.

  Just as he’d been willing to ride while in terrible pain.

  “We ought to ask in the village for any word of Kenneth,” Drew suggested, staring pensively into the fire. “Someone has to have word of him. The closer we draw to Inverness, the more likely we’ll be to hear something.”

  “Aye, we shall,” Rufus agreed.

  “Ye do not know where he is?” Davina asked, looking around.

  All eyes turned to her. “Nay,” Rufus murmured, his brows lifting. “Do ye?”

  “Och, nay,” she shook her head. “It is merely that I thought—I mean to say, if ye were to go to this trouble, would it not be helpful to know where ye might find your brother? To bring him home and make things right again?”

  “Aye, lass. It would be quite easy and neat, would it not?” Drew scoffed, shaking his head. “Life, sadly, does not go so easily.”

  She looked at the ground, gritting her teeth, remembering all too well how her brothers would dismiss her. How foolish, thinking she had left that behind.

 
“There is no need for that,” Rufus muttered, tossing a handful of branches onto the fire, making it blaze brighter. “I, too, would like to know where my brother is. I would prefer it if he were someplace safe, and if I knew where to find him to tell him the time has come to go home.”

  “Of course, ye would,” Drew sighed.

  Davina watched this with great interest, and more than a slight bit of surprise. He defended her. For the first time.

  Judging by the expressions on the faces of those around her, she was not the only one who found this strange. No one spoke up.

  Something had changed.

  The silence became rather uncomfortable, stirring her to speak further. It meant taking a risk, as there was no way to know how her question would be taken, but she felt the need to say something or curl into a ball under the weight of the strain which suddenly spread over them.

  “Ye have not seen your brother? Not since before ye left to fight?”

  “What does it mean to ye?” Rufus challenged, eyes flashing. “Nay. I have not seen him. I know not where he went or whether he…”

  More silence. She wished she hadn’t spoken. All her questions did was add to the discomfort all around. She turned her face from them, staring out into the darkness. Though she saw nothing but a few glimpses of stars through the tops of the trees, it was better than looking into resentful faces.

  Was it her they resented? Possibly. Perhaps even likely. She had all but killed their leader. She had slowed them down. If it weren’t for her, they would be a day closer to their destination.

  Perhaps Ian had not been entirely in the wrong when he’d advised her to hold her tongue. To practice discretion when it came to speaking. She had been too busy hating him to listen much.

  Just because the men around the fire had spent hours looking for her did not mean she was one of them. They had searched for Rufus. Not for her.

  She was still nothing. No one.

  Except to the man who had saved her. The one who had just spoken up on her behalf. Yes, something had changed. And she did not know how to feel about it.