Fate of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  Who was she really? She’d come from Brigid’s Hollow, a place of the Fae. She’d met Irene MacAskill, one of the Fae. She spoke and behaved and displayed a bravery unlike any woman Finn had ever met. There was something he was missing. She was keeping something from him, he was sure of it. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what that was.

  Eleanor worked diligently for several hours, the sleeves of her dress rolled up and her hair tied away from her face in a plait. Two of the men were beyond her aid, with wounds that even Finlay could see would take their lives by the morning. For these two Eleanor gave them tincture of poppy for the pain and then sat quietly and talked with them for a while. Under her gentle care the men's expressions eased and they began talking about their lives, the lives they'd lived before they fell on hard times and found themselves fighting for the renegade Lord Alasdair Stewart.

  Finlay stood back, arms crossed over his chest and watched in silence. His admiration for Eleanor grew. Would he behave as bravely if he was being held by the enemy in a land not his own?

  Eleanor patted the soldier’s hand and then stood. "He's asleep. He needs to be given more poppy in four hours and somebody should stay with him."

  Angus nodded, his bearded face filled with something Finlay had never expected to find there: respect. "Aye, my lady. I'll see to it. Trevor took an arrow for me some years back, seems the least I can do is keep him company as he goes to meet his maker."

  Eleanor nodded then pressed her hands into the small of her back and stretched. "I'll check on the others tomorrow."

  They left the tent. Once outside she staggered and would have fallen if Finlay hadn't darted forward to catch her. He lifted her gently back to her feet.

  "What is it, lass?" he asked. "Are ye well?"

  “Just tired,” she murmured.

  The sight of her, wisps of hair coming free from her plait, skin pale from exhaustion, sent a pang right through him. He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to safety.

  But he couldn't. He could sense people watching them, felt feral eyes tracking his every movement.

  In a voice harsher than he intended he snapped, "Stand up. Ye mustnae show any weakness, lass. Remember where ye are. Ye are among predators who will attack if they smell blood."

  Eleanor swallowed, pulled in a deep breath. Then she pushed away from Finlay's grip and straightened. Brushing a stray strand of hair back from her face she said, "It's fine. I'm okay now."

  Aye, her hair might be dishevelled and there might be a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. Her dress might be creased, the arms rolled to the elbows. Even so, in that moment, her beauty struck Finn like a physical blow. She wore that beauty with ease, as though she wasn’t even aware of it and this only made it all the more powerful to Finn.

  "Come,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get back.”

  FINN MADE TO WALK OFF but Eleanor caught his arm. In truth, she was exhausted and would love to sink onto her bed and sleep. But she couldn’t return to the house yet.

  “Wait. I need some supplies.” She held open the leather bag Angus had given her so Finn could see the meagre contents inside.

  “What kind of supplies?” Finn asked with a frown, glancing at the campfires and the men seated around them.

  “Well,” Eleanor replied, pursing her lips in thought. “Poppy would be a good start. It can be used for all sorts of pains. Then there’s comfrey to stop bleeding and help with breathing problems. Oh, and yarrow if we can find it. That’s good for wounds and helping circulation. And garlic, of course, which is good for just about anything.”

  Not for the first time since arriving here Eleanor gave a silent thanks to the room-mate she’d had at medical school. Donna had been very much into alternative medicine and had lectured Eleanor endlessly on the benefits of reiki, acupuncture, herbal medicine and a whole host of other things. Thank god she’d listened, otherwise she’d be well and truly stuck right now.

  Finn’s frowned deepened. “I dinna like it. We’ve been out here too long already. Mayhap it’s time we returned to the manor house.”

  “Look,” Eleanor said, planting her hands on her hips. “Lord Stewart asked me to treat his men. How am I supposed to do that if I don’t have anything to treat them with? You’re a tracker aren’t you? You know the woods around here better than anyone. Surely you can help me find what I need?”

  Finn hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Aye. Come, then.”

  He walked close by her side as they strode through the camp, weaving between tents and campfires. Finn stared down any men he thought might cause trouble, his hand resting on the handle of his bronze dagger. They reached the edge of the camp without incident and passed into the thick woodland that surrounded the manor house.

  After the noise and stink of the camp, the woodlands were like a balm. Green, and bursting with life, they were a million miles away from the melting pot of anger and resentment that made up Stewart’s army. Eleanor breathed deeply, finding herself relaxing for the first time in days. Finn too seamed more at ease, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he walked silently by her side.

  Eleanor looked around. She could see nothing but an endless expanse of trees reaching into the distance. There was not another person in sight.

  “Couldn’t we just slip away now?” she said to Finn. “There’s nobody here but us. Would anyone notice if we made a run for it?”

  Finn glanced at her. He took her arm and guided her behind the wide trunk of an oak tree and pressed his fingers to his lips for silence. He pointed into the trees. Eleanor followed the line of his outstretched hand but saw nothing.

  “Watch and wait,” Finn said.

  Eleanor concentrated. At first she saw nothing but a tangle of leaves and branches but then something shifted and she made out a man standing there. He’d kept so still he’d been barely visible.

  “Stewart’s pickets,” Finn said by way of explanation. “Guards posted to keep a watch for the enemy—and on anyone leaving camp. They’re posted all around here. We wouldnae be able to get past them without being seen.”

  Eleanor breathed out slowly. She could have walked right past the man and not even known he was there. The sight of him underlined just how dangerous a situation Eleanor had found herself in. What would have happened if she’d come out here without Finn?

  She nodded and she and Finn left their hiding place and skirted wide around the picket. Finn led her along a gurgling stream which eventually reached a flower-filled meadow. The sun had broken through the clouds and late afternoon sunshine bathed the meadow in a warm glow.

  “Poppies,” Finn said, pointing at the red wildflowers filling the meadow. “And unless I’m mistaken there’s some yarrow growing over by the stream. If ye want garlic and comfrey we’ll have to go further into the wood where it’s shady.”

  Eleanor nodded, staring at the meadow in delight. Oh what she wouldn’t give for a nice picnic right now! With a good bottle of wine, of course.

  She walked out into the knee-high grass, delighting in the feeling of the warm sun on her skin, and began harvesting the poppies. Finn stood at the edge of the meadow, arms folded across his chest, looking around warily as if he expected something to jump out at them any minute.

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “You know, this would go a lot quicker if you gave me a hand rather than standing there on sentry duty.”

  He frowned, looked about to object, then seemed to think better of it. He strode into the grass and began collecting the delicate flowers in those big hands of his. Eleanor bent to her work and they worked side by side in silence.

  “I can see why you like it out here,” she said after a while.

  “Like it? What do ye mean?”

  She gestured at the landscape. “You seem far more at home out here than you do at Stewart’s camp. I can understand why. It’s so...so peaceful.”

  “Aye,” Finn breathed, looking around the sunlit meadow. “It is. When I was a lad I us
ed to spend most of my time outdoors. It makes me feel...”

  “Free?” Eleanor supplied.

  “Aye. Something like that.”

  His eyes met hers and Eleanor went very still. A bunch of poppies dangled from one hand, suddenly forgotten as she found herself trapped by Finn’s gaze. His eyes were as green as the grass they trod upon, full of something that made Eleanor’s heart begin to thump. For a frozen moment they stood staring at one another, the only sound the roaring of Eleanor’s blood in her ears.

  Then Finlay suddenly crossed the distance between them in two long strides, caught her around the waist and jerked her hard against him. His mouth descended on hers, hot and insistent. And Eleanor responded. Oh god, she responded.

  The poppies fell unheeded from her hand as she snaked her arms around him, pulling him close as her lips parted to accept him. Searing heat flashed through her and she moaned as his tongue slipped between her lips. His warm breath enveloped her, his hard body pressed against her in a way that all but robbed her of her senses. She could barely breathe, barely think as they kissed, hard and long and deep. The torrent of desire that had been building since the first moment Finn had walked into her life broke free and swept her away.

  She had no idea how long the kiss lasted. It might have been a year or less than a heartbeat but eventually, finally, Finn lifted his lips from hers and Eleanor sagged in his arms, breathless. Finn held her tight and gazed down into her eyes. Eleanor felt trapped as surely as a fly in amber.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I shouldnae have done that.”

  “Shouldn’t you?” Eleanor said breathlessly. “I don’t know. Maybe you should do it again, just so I can check.”

  Finn smiled, his eyes sparkling. He lowered his face towards her but before his lips could touch hers there was a sudden snap of a branch nearby. Finn sprang away from her, spinning towards the sound and whipping his dagger from its sheath.

  But it was only a wood pigeon landing awkwardly in a bush nearby. Finn breathed out and Eleanor pressed a hand against her racing heart. If that had been one of Stewart’s men... She glanced at Finn and saw the same concern written on his face.

  “That was too close,” he said. “Lord above, what were we thinking?”

  Despite the danger, Eleanor found herself grinning. “I’m not sure there was much ‘thinking’ involved.”

  He smiled, his eyes suddenly full of mischief. “Nay, lass. I think mayhap ye are right.”

  The look he gave her made her heat rise. Holy shit, how she wished he’d kiss her again.

  But she knew that was dangerous. Anyone could be watching. So, doing her best to ignore the way her stomach was doing somersaults, she resumed gathering poppies. After a moment Finn joined her, so close she could hear his breathing.

  Oh god. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  Chapter 10

  The wind caught Finlay's hair and sent it streaming out behind him, a chill bite to it that seemed to deny the onset of spring. He squinted into the wind and stared out from the watchtower. The sun had fallen low in the sky and it would soon be dark. He and Eleanor had returned to the manor house several hours ago. He’d escorted her back to her room and come up here onto the ramparts to think.

  Before him, the landscape of the Highlands rolled out like a map, the heather-clad hills dotted with sparkling lochs and rugged, snow-capped mountains in the distance. Somewhere out there lay the meadow where he’d kissed Eleanor.

  The memory sent heat rushing straight to his groin. He’d never experienced anything like the all-consuming desire he’d felt as his lips had found hers. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He knew it was dangerous and reckless but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Lord help him, he knew he’d do it again given the chance.

  He turned suddenly as he heard footsteps on the stairs and Donald came puffing to the top, leaning with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

  "What is it, lad?” Finn demanded, alarmed. “What's happened?"

  Donald straightened, his face as red as his hair. "Came to tell ye," he gasped. "A scouting party is getting ready to depart to the south."

  "The south?" Finn asked. "What is the point in that? The enemy lie to the north and west."

  "Aye," Donald replied. "That's why I came to tell ye. They aren't scouting for the MacAuleys. It's something to do with Lady Eleanor."

  “Lady Eleanor?” Finn asked, his heart suddenly thudding. "Where is the scouting party now?”

  "At the gate. They were getting their horses ready when I came so they might not have left yet."

  Finn didn't wait for him to finish the sentence. He bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time. He sped through the grounds of the manor house but slowed when he reached the courtyard before the west gate. Pressing his back against a stack of empty barrels, he peered around them. Sure enough, two men were waiting impatiently with their mounts. They were lightly provisioned to allow for speed and stealth. The fact they were leaving just as it was getting dark confirmed that this was a covert mission.

  Both men turned as a third figure approached them. It was Alasdair Stewart.

  "Ye are prepared?" he asked the men.

  "Aye," one of them answered. "Angus has told us where he found the lass and even drawn us a map. Dinna worry, my lord, we'll find her trail and discover where she came from."

  Stewart nodded. "See that ye do. I want answers. I dinna trust Lady Eleanor Stevenson. There’s more than meets the eye to my esteemed physician—I dinna like people trying to deceive me." He reached into his tunic and pulled out a piece of parchment which he unrolled and showed to the men. "This is a map of the area she was found in. Do ye see aught of interest?"

  The men squinted at it. "Looks like empty wilderness to me," one of them said.

  "Exactly. Without any mention of the settlement she said she came from. Which means she was lying. In fact, the only thing of any note in the area is this." He pointed to a spot on the map.

  The men paled. "Brigid's Hollow," one of them breathed whilst the other made the sign against evil.

  "Aye. Find her trail and follow it back to its origins. If it leads back to Brigid's Hollow I want to know—immediately. Ye will tell nobody of yer mission. Ye will report directly to me when ye get back. Understood?"

  "Aye, lord."

  The men took the map, mounted their horses, and rode out the gate. Stewart watched them go for a moment before spinning on his heel and striding back into the manor house.

  Pulse racing, Finn hurried into the stables and quickly saddled a horse. Curse it all! Finn should have guessed Stewart wouldn’t take Eleanor’s story at face value. The man was as cunning as a lighthouse rat and trusted precisely nothing and nobody. What worried Finn the most, however, was how he’d made the connection between Eleanor and Brigid's Hollow. What had the man discovered? Did he know more about Eleanor than he let on?

  Finn climbed into the saddle and kicked the horse into motion. The guards on the gate paid Finn no heed as he galloped through. It was not unusual for him to go riding at all hours. The sun had sunk behind the hills and darkness was falling. He slowed his horse to a walk and scanned the trail for signs of the men.

  As he'd expected, they did not keep to the main road, instead turning off and making their way across country. Their trail was easy enough to follow, a narrow track where their horses' hoof prints were clear in the mud. There had been little rain recently and if Angus’s directions were accurate, they’d soon pick up Eleanor’s trail.

  And where will it lead them? Finn wondered to himself. If her trail did lead back to Brigid's Hollow rather than this Achfarn place she’d told him she came from? What would that mean?

  The unease deepened. He’d suspected Eleanor was keeping something from him, something important. Now, it seemed, Alasdair Stewart suspected the same.

  He shook his head. None of this mattered. All that mattered was keeping Eleanor safe and helping her escap
e from Stewart's clutches. Protectiveness flared in him as he remembered how soft and small her hand felt in his, how warm her smile. Then something else: heat as he recalled the silky feel of her lips on his, the roundness of her breasts as they pressed against his chest...

  Aye, he would protect Eleanor Stevenson with his life.

  It wasn't long before he spotted the patrol ahead, moving steadily south. They had lit torches, thinking there would be nobody to see them at this late hour. Fools. The light bobbed through the darkness like a firefly, advertising their presence to anyone who might be watching.

  Finlay growled under his breath. Any tracker under his command would have been severely reprimanded for such lack of discipline. Still, it made it easy for him to follow. He stayed well back, so that they didn't hear the thump of his horse's hooves or the jingle of his tack and wrapped his dagger in cloth so that the newly risen moon didn't reflect off it.

  Like this, they traveled for several hours. All the while Finn's senses were alert, eyes scanning the darkness, ears pricked for any sound that didn't belong. They'd passed through the picket lines of Stewart's sentries a while ago and were now in the no-man's land south of Stewart's holdings. Out here there would be brigands and worse, flourishing in the lawlessness that inevitably came when there was clan conflict.

  Up ahead, the patrol reined in their horses. From the way the torch bobbed he guessed they'd dismounted and were busy scanning the ground. Finlay pulled his horse to a halt, dismounted, and tethered it out of sight behind a tree. Taking his bow from the saddle, he slung it over his shoulder and proceeded on foot. Moving silently as only one who has spent years walking the wilderness could, he padded through the darkened wood, using only the pale moonlight to guide him and circled around towards the patrol from the east. He crept to within twenty meters of the pair and then hunkered down behind a tree to observe.

  They had dismounted in a wide clearing. A cold fire-pit sat in the center, with logs pulled up around it. The two men were careful where they put their feet as they inspected it to avoid trampling any footprints.