by Lynsay Sands
“When ye said we’re no’ taking nay fer an answer,” Donnan said slowly. “Did ye mean . . . ?”
“I meant exactly what it sounds like,” Evina assured him. “We’ll kidnap the bastard if we have to, but Rory Buchanan has to return with us. I’ll no’ let father die for lack o’ the right healer.”
Donnan nodded, but then pointed out, “It could mean war with the Buchanans.”
“Then we’ll battle the Buchanans,” she said grimly, and turned to peer at him. “Is that a problem?”
Donnan shook his head. “Nay, m’lady. I pledged me fealty to yer father. I’d give me life fer him. I just wanted to be sure ye kenned the consequences o’ this action.”
“I ken the consequences,” Evina assured him solemnly. “And I would give me life for me father too. If it takes a war to save him, then war it shall be.”
Donnan was silent for a moment, and then said gently, “Rory Buchanan may no’ be able to heal him either. Yer father may be beyond help.”
“Mayhap,” she agreed. “But I’d also give me life for just a chance at saving him. Hopefully, it’ll no’ come to war though, and the Buchanan will come willingly.”
“I’m thinking that does no’ seem likely,” Donnan said dryly, and nodded toward the waterfall again.
Evina turned her head quickly, her eyes widening as she saw that Gavin had reached the Buchanan and, rather than talking, the two men were now grappling under the waterfall. Even as she noted that, the pair tumbled off the low ledge they’d stood on and into the river itself.
“Huh,” Evina muttered, pursing her lips as she watched the pair rolling and bobbing in the water, alternately wrestling, punching and appearing to try to drown each other. “Ye may be right.”
“I’m thinking Gavin might need a hand,” Donnan said after several minutes had passed with the men continuing to struggle.
“Aye,” Evina agreed with concern as she watched the Buchanan force her cousin under the water and hold him there. When Gavin didn’t reappear, or roll the other man under, Donnan dismounted, intending to go help.
Quite sure he’d never make it there in time on foot, Evina cursed and put her heels to her mount. The mare responded at once, bursting into a sprint that took her to the water’s edge before Donnan had crossed half the distance. Evina rode right into the water, drawing her sword out as she did. Once next to the man holding Gavin under the water’s surface, she reined in hard enough to make her mare rear in the water.
The Buchanan turned a startled face up toward her, their eyes met briefly, and then Evina brought her sword down. The hilt of her weapon slammed into the side of his head with force. She watched him wince in pain and then lose consciousness as her mare settled on all four hooves again in the water.
The moment the Buchanan released Gavin, her cousin reared up out of the water, sputtering. Relief pouring through her, Evina sheathed her sword and slid quickly off her mare’s back. She landed in the waist-high water next to the men even as Donnan rushed into the river to approach them.
“Help Gavin,” she ordered, noting the way the young man was swaying as he stood up. She didn’t wait to watch the man obey, but moved to the Buchanan. Grabbing the healer by the shoulder, she turned him in the water. Her face pinched with concern when she noted his pallor, but she quickly shifted her hold to his hand and dragged him toward shore.
The healer was surprisingly heavy. Evina only managed to pull him halfway out of the river before she had to stop, but at least his head and chest were out. Once she’d dragged him as far as she could onto the grassy shore, she dropped to her knees beside him and quickly turned him on his stomach. Evina then placed her hands on his back and pushed hard and fast, once and then again. Water immediately poured from his mouth and nose. When a third such push didn’t bring up any more, she turned him over. When she saw that the man wasn’t breathing, she didn’t hesitate, but pinched his nose, opened his mouth and bent to blow her breath into it.
“Er . . . m’lady?” Donnan said, sounding uncertain as he let a coughing and hacking Gavin drop to his knees next to her. “What are ye doing?”
“Breathing for him,” she muttered between breaths. “Me mother did this to me brother when he near drowned as a lad. It revived him,” she explained as she pressed on the Buchanan’s chest, before bending to cover his mouth with hers again.
“Looks more like yer kissing on him,” Donnan said dubiously, and Gavin released a chuckle of amusement that was raspy and sent him into another coughing fit.
Evina ignored both men and bent to press her ear to the unconscious man’s chest. Much to her relief she heard his heart beat and the sound of his drawing breath into his lungs on his own. Straightening then, she peered down at him expectantly, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“Ye hit him pretty hard, m’lady,” Donnan pointed out solemnly. “He may no’ wake up for a bit, but he’s breathing now on his own at least.”
“Aye,” she sighed the word, her eyes sliding over the man’s face. He was really quite handsome. She hadn’t expected that. She’d heard tales of his skill as a healer, but not one of those stories had mentioned that he was a good-looking man. She’d imagined a plain-faced, scrawny, bookish man like the priests, who were the only learned men she knew of. Instead, he had a pretty face and a strapping body, she noted, her gaze sliding down his wide, naked chest to his tapered waist. The rest of him was still submerged in water so Evina couldn’t look farther.
“M’lady?” Donnan said quietly, drawing her reluctant gaze. “Mayhap we’d best get moving. If one o’ his brothers come looking for him and finds him like this . . .”
“Aye.” Evina stood abruptly, ignoring the way her wet skirts dragged at her. She glanced quickly around the clearing, but once assured they were still alone, turned her attention to Gavin as his coughing fit ended and he spat in the dirt. “Are ye all right, Gav? Can ye ride?”
“Aye,” he growled, staggering to his feet.
Evina watched him with concern, but he appeared mostly recovered. At least he wasn’t swaying or coughing anymore and there was color in his cheeks. Nodding, she turned back to the water, a grimace claiming her lips when her skirts slapped cold and wet against her legs. Her mare still stood where she’d left her, and Evina waded back into the water to reclaim her reins and lead her back onto land.
“What do ye want us to do with the Buchanan?” Donnan asked as he watched her mount her mare.
Evina settled in the saddle, arranged her skirts the best she could sitting astride as she was and then glanced down to the naked, unconscious man on the ground. He really was a pretty man, a pleasure to look on, she thought, but said, “Bind him hand and foot, toss him over his horse’s back, and then tie him hand to foot to be sure he does no’ fall off.”
“Do I dress him first?” Donnan asked, not looking pleased at the thought, and Evina supposed pleating a plaid and dressing an unconscious fully grown male in it might be something of a task.
She shook her head. “Nay. Just throw his plaid over him once ye’ve ensured he’ll no’ fall off his mount as we ride. And mayhap tie it down somehow so it does no’ fall off him either.”
Donnan nodded and then glanced to Gavin. “Are ye well enough to fetch his mount?”
“O’ course,” Gavin said irritably, and headed away muttering, “Took in a bit o’ water, is all, but I’m fine now.”
They watched him go, and then both Evina and Donnan shared small smiles. Gavin was always a bit touchy at any suggestion that he may not be up to par. He was young yet, but determined to prove he was a man.
“The Buchanan’ll no’ be pleased at being knocked unconscious,” Donnan predicted solemnly as he shifted his attention back to the unconscious man.
“Nay,” Evina agreed on a sigh, her eyes wandering toward the still-submerged lower half of the unconscious man’s body before she caught herself and drew it back to his face. This hadn’t been how she’d hoped this task would go. She’d planned to have an amiable
chat with the man, and convince him to come with them. Knocking him out and dragging him home with them had only been a last-resort possibility if he’d refused to accompany them willingly. However, things rarely went according to plan in her experience.
Shaking her head, she glanced warily around the clearing again before her gaze settled on her cousin leading the Buchanan’s mount to them.
“Thank ye,” Donnan said, taking the horse’s reins from Gavin. “Go fetch our beasts while I get him on his horse.”
Nodding, the younger man moved quickly away to retrieve their waiting horses.
Evina watched Donnan bind the Buchanan’s hands and feet and then frowned when he caught him by his tied hands and drew him into a sitting position.
“Can ye manage on yer own? Or do ye need me to help ye with . . .” Evina’s question died in her throat. Donnan already had the man over his shoulders and was carrying him the few feet to the Buchanan’s mount. She watched silently as he slung him over the beast and quickly attached a rope between his bound hands and his feet under the animal’s belly so that he wouldn’t slide off during the ride.
Evina supposed she shouldn’t be surprised at how easily Donnan had managed the task. It was why she’d brought him along on this journey. The man was huge and strong, his neck as big around as her thigh, his upper arms bulging with muscle and his shoulders almost twice the width of most men’s. He probably could have carried the three of them if necessary, Evina thought as she watched him arrange the Buchanan’s plaid over his back and fasten it around his neck and knees to keep it in place.
“That should do,” Donnan announced as he stepped back from his handiwork.
“Aye,” Evina agreed as Gavin reached them, already astride his mount and leading Donnan’s. She waited as the first mounted, but once he was settled and had the reins of the Buchanan’s horse in hand, she turned her own mount to lead them out of the clearing. Her thoughts were already on the ride home and the quickest way there. It was usually a two-day ride, but she intended to make it in a little more than one. There would be no stopping to eat or make camp at night. They would eat in the saddle and ride nonstop, as they had on the way out. Her father’s life depended on it. If he still lived.
That last thought made Evina press her lips tight together and spur her horse into a run before they’d even left the clearing. Her father couldn’t die. He just couldn’t. He and Gavin were all the family she had in this world.
Conran groaned as pain dragged him back toward consciousness. It wasn’t one pain, but a whole battery of pains, and they were assaulting him from nearly everywhere. His arms, his legs, his ankles and wrists, his stomach and his damned head were all throbbing, pounding or aching at the moment and he didn’t understand why. He also didn’t understand what he was seeing when he was finally able to open his eyes. Everything was just a fuzzy blur at first, but even when his vision cleared he couldn’t quite grasp what he was staring at.
Something dark brown was filling most of his vision, although there was a strip of something blue on one side. Unable to figure out what the brown was, Conran turned his head slightly to peer at the blue instead, hoping that might be more comprehensible. But beyond the blue he could see the tail end of the horse he was apparently on, and beyond that, what appeared to be an upside-down rider following.
Although the rider wasn’t the one who was upside down, he was, Conran realized suddenly as he stared at the large man and the scenery disappearing behind him. He was hanging upside down on a horse, his stomach across the saddle, with his legs hanging down one side and his shoulders and arms the other.
That explained his aching stomach, Conran supposed as he bounced on the beast’s back, his stomach slamming into the pommel and top of the saddle. His aching head could be blamed on the blow he now recalled taking back at the river, and his ankles and wrists hurt because they were both presently bound, and tightly too. There also appeared to be a rope attached to his bound hands that disappeared under the belly of the beast he lay on.
Conran wasn’t positive what that rope was attached to at first, but when he tried to draw his hands toward himself, a tug on his ankles gave him the answer. His wrists and ankles were trussed up and tied together under the horse. If he slipped, his weight would drag him down so that he hung under the animal like a boar tied to a spear to be carted home after a hunt. Did that happen, he was likely to be kicked in the head. Brilliant.
Turning his face, Conran peered at the blue cloth next to his head. Someone rode with him. Presumably to keep him from slipping, he supposed. He could feel pressure on one butt cheek, as if someone were pressing down to keep him from shifting and slipping under the animal.
The naked man who’d attacked him while he was cleaning up at the waterfall? he wondered, but then took a look at the cloth next to him again. Not a plaid, and not braies either. The blue cloth draped, looking more like a skirt to him. It was pulled tight because the rider was astride, but it was a skirt he was sure. Conran let his eyes follow the cloth down to where it ended just above a strip of dark brown that might have been the bottom hem of braies worn under the skirt, and then there were a bare couple of inches of pale calf showing above the top of brown leather riding boots.
Conran hung there for a moment, simply staring at the bit of skin, and then tried to lift and turn his head to look at the rider presently touching his bottom so familiarly, but the movement made the pounding in his head increase in severity enough that he quickly gave up the effort. After waiting a moment for the pain to ease back to a dull throb again, Conran called out instead. Or at least he tried. Even he couldn’t hear the weak sound of his breathless voice over the drumming of the horses’ hooves. Aside from the fact that his position made it impossible to take in enough air to propel anything of volume, his mouth and throat were dry as old bone.
Unable to get the rider’s attention, Conran tried to make himself relax, but his position was damned uncomfortable, and growing more so by the moment. He had to get the attention of the person he rode with. After a moment of debating the situation, he finally simply turned his head and bit into the patch of naked skin above the leather boot.
It immediately became obvious that it had been the wrong move. Rather than slowing to a halt at the realization that he was awake, the rider clenched the hand on his bottom in a startled response, driving sharp nails into his ass. The unknown female must also have yanked on the reins in surprise with her other hand too. At least, that was his guess when the animal suddenly reared up with a distressed whinny.
Cursing, Conran closed his eyes and tried to brace himself as his world turned on its end.
“Cousin!”
Groaning, Evina rolled onto her back, and opened her eyes, unsurprised to find Gavin next to her, concern on his face.
“Are ye all right?” he asked, looking her over.
“Fine,” she sighed as he helped her sit up. Glancing around she spotted the Buchanan on the ground a few feet away, next to his now-calm horse. Donnan was kneeling beside him.
“Is he okay?” Evina asked anxiously. Ignoring the aches and pains assailing her, she struggled to her feet with help from Gavin, and moved to lean over Donnan so that she could get a look at the Buchanan’s face. Seeing his closed eyes, and pale face, she sighed with disappointment. “He’s unconscious again.”
“Again?” Donnan glanced back at her with surprise.
Evina nodded. “He woke up briefly just moments ago.”
“Are ye sure?” Donnan asked.
“Aye,” she said with a grimace. “The bastard bit me leg.”
“He bit you?” Gavin asked with a laugh of disbelief.
Evina nodded again. “It startled me into yanking on the blasted reins, which is why his steed reared.”
“He’s unconscious, but breathing fine and seems good other than another bump on his head,” Donnan announced, straightening. “Must have got it when he hit the ground.”
Evina relaxed a little. They’d both come o
ff the horse when it reared. She’d tumbled backward, and he’d slid down the horse’s back right behind her. He’d still been trussed up, ankles and wrists, with a rope attached between them. She supposed they were lucky he’d only suffered a blow to the head and hadn’t been trampled or dragged about by his mount.
“We’re only an hour from Maclean,” Donnan said quietly. “It might be better to get him there before he wakes again.”
“Aye,” Evina agreed, absently rubbing her elbow. She’d landed on it hard when she fell off the horse. It was tender, probably badly bruised, as was her hip, but she hadn’t broken anything, and she was conscious, so, all told, she’d fared better than the Buchanan.
“Gavin can take him on his horse for the rest of the ride,” Donnan said as he picked up the man and straightened.
Evina didn’t argue. This wasn’t the first time the Buchanan had slid off his saddle. It had happened shortly after they’d left the clearing. He’d slid down, headfirst toward the ground, and then hung under the horse’s belly, faceup with the rope attached between his bound ankles and wrists across the saddle. Well, he would have been faceup if he’d been conscious. He hadn’t, however, so his head had just fallen back, his long hair dragging on the ground.
They’d stopped at once, of course, to resituate him across the saddle, and then had decided someone should ride with him to be sure it didn’t happen again. Evina had taken the duty because she was the lightest, and they’d hoped it wouldn’t slow his horse down too much to have her ride with him. But they were close to home now; Gavin’s horse could handle the two of them and still move fast for this last bit of the journey. The beast had originally been Donnan’s until her father had gifted his first with the steed he now rode. The animal was used to carrying the bigger man, and Gavin and the Buchanan together probably didn’t weigh that much more than Donnan did on his own, he was that large.
“Mount up, Gavin, and I’ll lay him over the saddle in front o’ ye,” Donnan ordered as he carried the Buchanan past her.
