His Highland Heart

by Willa Blair

  That decided, Euan resolved to enjoy the woman’s soft warmth as long as she slept…or until it was time to go. Just then, Muireall’s head moved so slightly he thought he’d imagined it. Until it happened again.

  “Nay, nay! Nay…”

  Euan frowned down at the head on his shoulder, clearly tossing now with every mumbled word. Was she dreaming? Talking in her sleep?

  “Muireall.” He shrugged his shoulder, hoping to wake her from her dream with a gentle movement.

  “Nay, ye canna…leave us be…”

  What? “Muireall, wake up. Ye’re dreaming. Ye are safe with me.”

  “Nay…dinna take us…”

  That came out as a wail, so Euan jostled her again and was reaching for her hand when she suddenly roused and sat up, then rubbed her face with both hands.

  “I’m sorry. I didna mean to use ye as a pillow.”

  “Wheest, lass, all is well. Ye were dreaming and talking in yer sleep. Ye seemed upset, so I thought it best to wake ye.”

  “Talking…” Her expression went from muzzy to worried in the space of that one word, eyes widened under drawn-down brows. “What did I say?”

  Her cheeks pinked as he watched. “Ye kept repeating “nay.” Then ye said “leave us be” and “ye canna take us.” I thought ye’d rest better away from such a dream.”

  She nodded, refusing to meet his gaze.

  That convinced him. “Or was it a memory? Is there something ye havena told me?”

  Muireall heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed her face again, then fisted her hands over her cloak. “Aye.”

  “Then perhaps this is a good time for confession.”

  Just then, Euan heard a man’s scream. Though agonized, the voice sounded familiar. He rolled out of their inset, stood and ran to the seaside entrance. There, he leaned out and listened. The wind was blowing their way. The next sound was another man’s shout, a demand if he judged the timbre correctly. Then a hoarse cry broke the stillness. It couldn’t be! This time, he recognized Calum’s voice, his cousin’s agonized tone.

  As he grabbed for the rope he’d left coiled on the floor of the cave, Muireall came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He shook her off. Waves still broke against the headland between this cove and the next. Calum needed his help, and he couldn’t get to him without risking drowning as Muireall had. He’d never get there fast enough. Yet even if he could, without weapons, what could he do? Perhaps something the lass had collected before the tide came in would make do—and would still be on the sliver of beach starting to show below them.

  Another hoarse cry cut off abruptly.

  He froze.

  The silence that followed lasted long enough for Muireall to seize his fist and softly cry out at what she saw. “Ye’ve made it bleed again, ye daft man.”

  “I need to get around that headland. One of my men survived. They’re torturing my cousin.”

  Rough laughter blew in on the wind and Muireall’s shoulders dropped. “I ken that laugh. ’Tis Donas.” She clutched at her throat with one hand. “I’m so sorry. I fear yer cousin doesna need yer help any longer. They’ve killed him.”

  “Nay!” Euan covered his mouth with his arm to muffle the sound and heard the cry as if it came from another. The wrenching pain in his chest confirmed it was his.

  “Likely he was half drowned and couldna tell them what they wanted to know,” Muireall told him softly, then bit her lip and turned her gaze to the water and continued, “so they killed him and tossed him back into the firth.”

  Furious heat rose from Euan’s chest to his face. His breath whistled through his nose as he grabbed Muireall’s shoulders and glared at her through a red haze, heedless of the pain in his hands. “Your people just killed my cousin.” He shook her, then let her go, leaving bloody prints behind on her cloak.

  “Nay, no’ my peo.…” Her voice broke on a sob.

  She denied what they’d both just heard? What she’d just described?

  “Nay? No’ yer…what? Yer people?”

  She shook her head, misery in her gaze.

  How convenient. “Did ye make me think ye talked in yer sleep in case something like this happened?”

  With a growl, he left her there and charged into the upper cave, grabbed the first hand-sized rock he found and climbed, then began chipping away the limestone imprisoning them, swearing with each blow against the pain in his hands and his heart.

  Muireall was only moments behind him. “Stop!” she cried. “If there’s a patrol on the clifftop, they’ll hear you. Someone will see what ye are doing.” She tugged on his boot, unsettling him and making him lose his precarious hold on the wall.

  He fell, knocking her down, and landing beside her on his knees and palms. He was too angry to feel the damage, though he could see blood dripping from his fingers as he straightened up. “See what ye have done!” He glared at her and stood.

  She scooted away and got to her feet, clutching her damned cloak around her and wincing.

  “I ken ye are angry, but ye must hear me. They are no’ my people. No’ my clan. I was stolen, nearly a month ago.”

  “Ye lie. Ye’ll say anything to save yerself.” But the red haze dissipated a little. Was that why she’d been sent to scour the shoreline in her shift? And seemed less than eager to return to what he thought was her clan?

  “Ye must believe me.” She grabbed his arm.

  He twisted out of her grip and demanded, “Who’s Donas?” as she stumbled aside.

  Whatever else she meant to say was lost to her cry as she fell. Then her head smacked against the cave wall and her eyes rolled back.

  She went limp before he could catch her with his injured hands.

  Horror filled him. What had he done? He’d only meant to break her grip on his arm, not to shove her into the rocky wall. He fell to his knees and gathered her up. “Muireall, nay. I’m sorry! I didna mean to harm ye.” Frantic now with regret and fear for her, he ran his bloody fingers through her hair and found the lump behind one temple. Then he bent and kissed her forehead. “Muireall, lass, wake up. I will no’ harm ye. I swear it.” For good measure, he kissed the lump on her head, too, then pulled her cloak together to cover her. Her shift was drying but still damp enough to reveal what lay beneath. She’d be angry about the lump on her head. Angrier still if she thought he took advantage of her and looked.

  She stirred and muttered, “No’ your fault…ye didna mean to…”

  “Ah, ye’re still with me.” He rocked her in his arms, then kissed her face as he would to comfort a child. “I’m so sorry,” he crooned, smoothing back her hair. “I didna mean to hurt ye.”

  She yelped as his fingers again found the knot. Though her eyes remained closed, she lifted her hand to her head, frowned and tucked her face against his neck.

  “I saved ye from the firth,” he murmured into her hair, thinking of how he’d pulled her to safety and wishing he could have done the same for his men. “I canna have killed ye, now.” Her breath warmed his throat and gave him a small measure of comfort as he stroked her head.

  She gave a soft moan at the last, then pushed up until he helped her to sitting, then met his gaze. “Now will ye listen to reason? Ye canna fight the whole clan alone. We must escape.” She stopped talking to take a breath and blinked, then added, “I’ve tried twice and failed.”

  He could scarce deny the resolute tone ringing in his ears. She’d meant what she said earlier. She was no Ross.

  Her lips thinned. He attributed her pained expression to the lump on her head.

  “I…we…need yer help. Then ye can return to take yer vengeance.”

  “We?”

  “Aye.” She glanced down, then continued. “Let me tend yer hands. I’ll tell ye the tale while I do.”

  Muireall told him all of it while she cleaned his wounds with rainwater from a shallow depression in the floor of the cave, dabbing at them with a wet strip torn from the hem of her shift. Then she wrapped his hands, covering
the wounds and hoping to protect them long enough for him to return home to his own healer’s care. It hurt to relate how the raiders had come while she and the other two, Ella and Tira, were washing clothes at the burn, taking all three lasses away with them. Their captors left behind a village of ghosts, they were told, killing all they didn’t steal. Before she was done, tears streamed down her face, and she spoke around sobs that threatened to choke her. “Perhaps a few survived who were out hunting, or children playing in the woods away from the village. I canna ken.”

  “Perhaps all survived. Have ye thought yer captors might have told ye such a tale to keep ye hopeless of rescue. Ye say ye’ve been here nearly a month. I’d say their tale did its job.”

  She wanted to believe him. More than anything. For Georgie’s sake. “God, how I hope ye are right. But we’ve had nay chance to escape, though I tried…twice. And if our men live, why have they no’ come for us?” Because she and the others had been abandoned.

  “Perhaps they looked, but lost the trail. Or never had it.”

  “Or perhaps they are all dead.”

  He traced her cheek with his fingertips, the only part of his hands not covered by strips of her shift.

  Despite his injuries, his hands were strong. He’d abused them over and over in his determination to save them both. Euan’s looks pleased her, and she couldn’t deny his bravery. Nor could she help how she was growing to feel about him, though she knew she was beyond foolish even to imagine he could ever feel anything for her. She was a burden to him, nothing more.

  “Once I discover the fate of my men, and return home with the news, I’ll take ye home.”

  She thought about the way he’d wakened her with his frantic kisses. He cared for her at least a little. He felt responsible for her. Surely, she could convince him to do as she asked. “Where is home for ye?”

  “Across the firth—clan Brodie.”

  Hope made her bold. “Munro is closer. We should go there first. Our healer could tend to ye.”

  “Nay.”

  Her face fell and her shoulders slumped.

  “Ye ken why I canna,” he said as he took in her reaction to his refusal. “I must return to carry the news. My men had fathers and mothers, two had wives and children. They need to ken what happened to their men.”

  “Just as I need to ken what happened to mine. And if they still live, to tell them what happened to us.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I’ve hoped and despaired for so long. Yer people have only had a day to wonder…”

  Euan rocked back on his heels, and Muireall feared she’d pushed too hard. It was within his power to leave her here, after all.

  He pressed his hands together and winced as if he’d forgotten his wounds. Then he said the thing she most feared. “I should leave ye here with the Rosses, where at least ye’d be safe. I could return for ye in a few days. Ye could meet me…”

  “What makes ye think I’d be safe here? In a few days, Donas Ross could give me to one of his men. I’d be ruined and never be able to leave. Or ye could decide once ye are gone that I’m no’ worth the trouble to retrieve.” She shook her head. “I canna risk that. Ye must see why.”

  “Aye, I suppose I do. What about yer friends?”

  “They are both married now. Tira seems happy. I’m no’ certain about Ella. If I could, I’d ask her if she would like to come with us.”

  “That ye canna do—ye risk her telling her husband. It will be dangerous and hard enough for two of us, much less with a third who is no’ certain she wants to leave.”

  “That’s just it. I think she would, if she could. If we could find a way…”

  “Forget it, lass. I’m sorry.”

  She studied the floor, lips pressed together to hold back the pleas he would only ignore. “I’m sorry, too.”

  At low tide, Euan stood at the cave’s mouth and watched Muireall dunk herself in the surf and go around the headland alone. They’d argued while the surf retreated, until a thin strip of sand appeared there and began to widen. She feared her captors would be on the other side, waiting for the chance to discover if she yet lived, or to retrieve her body, had it not been swept out to sea.

  “If ye go with me, ye would be captured and all hope would be lost,” she’d told him. “I’ve thought about what ye said. ’Tis better I go alone. If no one waits, I can come back to tell ye.”

  He fought the idea, preferring both of them to wait a while in the cave and see if anyone came looking for her, but the more he thought about it, the more he saw what she said made sense. Time was not on their side. Not if any more of his men were alive to save. They had to get out before the next high tide or be trapped again, without food or water, for long hours more.

  “They willna have any reason to search this cove if I return,” she’d argued. “Ye’ll have a chance to steal a boat and get away. I could still go to the beach in a day or two.”

  “I couldna leave without seeing ye were safe, lass.” He’d known it was foolish even to say, but he’d come to care for her.”

  “Nay, that’s too dangerous. We have agreed ye must go if ye are to search for yer men.”

  “Once I see ye are safe, I’ll go. But I’ll keep sailing back until ye appear on the beach, alone, or with yer friend Ella,” he swore, meaning every foolish word. He didn’t want to be saddled with a lass—his duty to Brodie drove him to find out what happened to his men. But he owed her. She’d helped save both of them from the incoming tide. “No matter what happens to ye, I willna abandon ye.” He didn’t want her to take the risk, but he couldn’t see another option that might save them both—and any of his men he chanced to find.

  Somewhere in the midst of their argument, she’d also made him swear that if another week went by and she didn’t appear on the beach, he’d cease risking himself and forget about her. She was sure by then Donas would have given her to one of his men and her fate would be sealed. He swore to himself he’d free her before that happened.

  Just before dark, when she ran out of sight around the widening strip of sand, Euan prayed as he never had before. She had to appear eager to reach safety with the clan, if indeed they waited on the other side. He stood in the cave mouth, rope pulled up out of sight, watching and ready to duck back in case she returned with an escort demanding to know how she’d survived. She planned to make use of climbing the rocky steps to stand on his shoulders and say she’d managed to pull herself up onto a rock, and each time the tide rose, she swam to a higher one. The only thing she couldn’t explain is why no one had heard her scream for help.

  Returning alone to her captors was perhaps the bravest thing he’d ever seen anyone do. She couldn’t be certain he’d return for her, despite what he’d promised.

  Seconds dragged into long, breathless minutes, then even more, yet still she did not return. He forced himself to practice patience he did not feel, and fought the growing urge to climb down and go after her. That would be foolhardy in the extreme—and a waste of her sacrifice. Where was she? Why had she not returned for him? He couldn’t believe they’d harm her. They’d stolen her for a reason—for a life that would be much the same with the Rosses as any lasses’ would be with any clan, married and raising a family. Aye, if he had any sense, he’d leave her to make her future here.

  But he knew he would not abandon her. A sweet face and pleasing form could catch his eye, and she had that. But rarely would a lass hold his interest for more than that moment of appreciation. Muireall, though, had begun to fill his thoughts. He’d never met a more valiant lass—or one more desperate, he supposed. But desperation did nothing to negate the spirit she showed him with every word she spoke and everything she’d done to help them both survive since he’d pulled her from the surf. A strange sensation—respect for a lass he barely knew—filled him at the thought.

  The sea was clear of boats for as far as he could see. No one waited offshore, looking for movement in the nearby coves, ready to signal to warriors where to pick up survivors of
the wreck. That was what he would have done, but perhaps the Rosses figured it was too late for anyone lost at sea the night before.

  If he waited until the tide started coming back in, he’d be trapped for another twelve hours. After a night and a day with no water and no food, another night would leave him too weak to save himself, much less Muireall or any of his men who might remain alive and free. It was time to take action. Yet, the fact Muireall seemed to have disappeared without a sound troubled him. He should have heard voices, glad cries or an argument…something to let him know she’d been met and would be taken back to the Ross village.

  “I may be the biggest fool yet born,” Euan muttered as he kicked the rope over the side. He kept an eye on the headland, knowing with his luck, now the rope was down, a group of her captors would cross the narrow strip of beach and spot him. “But the devil hasna taken me, yet.” He sat at the cave opening, grabbed the rope in sore, stiff hands, levered himself over the side, and clung to it as he dropped down. For a moment, he debated whether he should toss the rope into the cave, but feared he’d need it again, so he’d have to accept the possibility of it being discovered hanging down the cliff face.

  To his relief and worry, he was still alone on the beach. Showing himself had not signaled a horde of Rosses to come pelting down on him. So where was Muireall?

  Despite the sense of inevitable doom that hung over him, he made his way quietly to the thin strand of beach that marked the way to safety—or death. Nearby clifftops were empty.

  Had Muireall gone back to the village and left him to make his way home? Nay, she wanted to escape as much as he. If she’d found the shipwreck cove empty, she would not have chosen to climb to the village. She would have come back for him. Which meant she’d been taken, without a chance to make a sound to warn him.

  They had her. Now, he had to get her back.

  Chapter 4