by Willa Blair
Finally, Toran slowed his mount to a walk, cooling it down. He eased his vise-like grip, allowing Aileana her first deep breath in an hour. Pine sap and leaf mold odors filled her nose, sharp above the musk of hard-ridden horse and the heady scent that was uniquely Toran’s own. She heard nothing but the sigh of the wind, birds chirping in the trees, and the steady beat of Toran’s heart against her ear. Leather creaked as he shifted in the saddle to look behind them. Before long, Kyle rode up and stayed along side them for a few paces until he got his breath. “All clear,” he reported.
“Good. Ride back to Donal; make sure they’re away safely,” Toran ordered.
Kyle raised a hand in salute, turned his mount and headed back the way they had come.
While the men talked, Aileana had tried and failed to unclench her cramping hands from Toran’s arm. Seeming to sense her difficulty, he stopped their horse completely, draped the reins over its neck, and wrapped his other arm around her. Gently, he pried her fingers free.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, half turning in his arms to see him. The frown on his face did nothing to ease her fears.
Then Aileana looked down and saw blood where her nails had pierced his skin. Embarrassment washed through her. How could she have clung so desperately to him without even knowing it?
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly, keeping her gaze cast down to the small wounds she’d caused.
Instead of admonishing her, Toran took one of her hands in his two large ones and carefully began to rub and knead her cramping fingers. Pain she had not been aware of finally penetrated, and as quickly, began to dissolve away under his care. Aileana realized that it was not unlike what she herself did when she healed, though he lacked her Talent.
“Ach, lass, calm yerself,” he admonished, and the deep rumble of his voice vibrated not only in her ear, but in her back where she leaned against him. “There’s naught to fear. I didna drop ye, now did I? And I’ll get ye to the Aerie ahead of Colbridge’s men.”
Leaning against his skin was like leaning toward a blazing hearth warding off the chill of the gathering gloaming. His voice and his hands were so soothing that Aileana could almost believe him. No one had tried to comfort her in a very long time and the simple kindness of this man’s caring touch filled a need she hadn’t known she had. But she also worried that his kindness might reflect more than simple caring. What if he was trying to lull her into accepting him, allowing him to use her as he pleased?
He released her hand and picked up the other, treating it to the same gentle stroking pressure. Despite her misgivings, she could barely hold back a moan from the pleasure of his touch, until she saw again the blood on his arm and was reminded both that she was his hostage, and that they were not safe.
“How much farther must we go?”
Toran pulled her hand up and dropped a light kiss on the back, sending a thrill up her arm to somewhere deep in her chest. She clamped down on the feeling, refusing to be taken in. Then he released her hand and pointed at the high ground still ahead of them in the distance. “We’ve still a way to go, but just over that ridge and the next, ye’ll look upon it.” He picked up the reins and flicked them, urging the horse into a walk.
Aileana flexed her fingers, already missing the soothing warmth of his hands, telling herself sternly to forget the velvety feel of his lips on her skin. But her hands were lax and supple again. She laid them atop his arm, covering the bloody punctures she’d made, and called on her Talent. Toran stilled behind her. She knew he was aware of the soreness diminishing when he tensed. Finally, she lifted her hands and brushed away the bits of dried blood that remained under them, revealing newly healed pink scars.
“Good God, lass, that’s a rare skill ye have,” Toran breathed behind her as he raised his arm and saw her handiwork. “Is it witchery that ye do? To see it…what ye started to do to my wrists in the tent…and now this…”
His question shocked her, and she berated herself for her audacity. She should have let him bleed rather than give him more evidence against her. Then she sat up straighter. No. She would not be labeled that way. She was no witch, but an orphan, a prisoner, and a healer. If he did not see her as herself by now, nothing she said would change his mind. Her anger made her bold. “That was just a small thing,” she boasted, “and simple to do.” Let him make of it what he will.
Silence greeted her announcement. They continued at a walk for a while. Aileana wondered what Toran was thinking. She longed to touch him and get a sense of what he felt, but her boldness fled with her annoyance and she didn’t dare. Had she said too much? Had her defiant tone provoked him in some way? He did not move, except to avoid low-hanging branches. Finally, he flicked the reins again and increased their pace up the hillside.
“I’m thinking that ye’re a rare prize, and one I’m wagering I’ll be glad to keep. Let’s get ye home to the Aerie. Ye’ll be safe there. Colbridge willna be able to reach ye once ye bide inside its walls.”
Walls? Aileana’s heart lurched to her throat. Once Toran got her in there, would she be able to get out? Would it be just another prison for “such a rare prize” as she? One even more impossible to escape than Colbridge’s camp?
And how would Toran use such a rare prize? She no longer had Ranald to assist her and care for her after her healing sessions drained her.
Or could she believe Toran? “Let’s get ye home to the Aerie,” he’d said. Could she find a home there? she worried, wishing suddenly that she was back in Colbridge’s camp, where she knew her role and her place.
“What is it like, this Aerie of yours?” Aileana asked.
“Ye’ll see soon enough,” Toran deep voice rumbled behind her “’Tis a home like any other, filled with kin and friends, bairns and beasts.”
Aileana heard the pride in his voice as he described something so commonplace to him, yet so foreign to her. Sadness she usually kept at bay welled up, and she fought it back. She would not get homesick now. Her parents were long dead, her life in the village gone forever. She would not cry in the arms of this stranger. She would do as she had done for the last two years—she would do everything necessary to survive.
They rode on, stopping occasionally to rest the horse and relieve themselves. During the first such stop, Aileana considered slipping away into the forest, but suspected that Toran’s tracking skills might equal his fighting and riding abilities. Nor could she outrun his horse. She considered using her Voice to order him to release her, but here in this vast wilderness, she doubted her ability to survive more than a few days. She had no idea where the next village might be.
Kyle caught up with them once, reporting that Donal and their men followed after relieving some of their pursuers of their mounts. But they were slowed by some of their and the MacAnalen wounded.
“How bad?” Toran asked.
“A few scratches and bumps,” Kyle reported with a grin. “Naught to keep them from the Aerie and auld Senga’s ministrations.”
“Take me back to them,” Aileana argued. “I can help.”
“Nay,” Toran said, and his tone brooked no further discussion.
Aileana pursed her lips, but managed to keep her silence. Did he so fear her abilities that he would deny her help for his men?
Then Toran added, “They’ll catch up to us soon enough,” and her anger evaporated into relief. Toran was just trying to keep her safe. “Kyle, ride back and hurry them along. I don’t want any of Colbridge’s men nipping at their heels. And stay with them. Another good sword arm will come in handy if they do meet trouble.”
Kyle balked. “Are ye sure that’s wise, Laird?”
“Aye.” Toran glanced ahead of them and noted the lowering sun in the western sky. “We’re hours away from their camp, and we’ve been on Lathan land for a while now. If they havena caught us yet, they willna between here and the Aerie.”
Without another word, Kyle turned his horse and headed back the way he’d come. Toran urged their mount to a quicker pa
ce, and settled Aileana firmly against him.
After hours of hard riding, Aileana’s back ached and her backside felt numb to the toes. She remembered wishing that she’d been left behind in Colbridge’s camp. She didn’t want that, not really. At least there she could move about as she pleased. Even her earlier enjoyment of Toran’s arm about her was beginning to wear thin. She wondered how he still controlled his monstrous steed. Surely he must be as tired and numb as she.
Suddenly lights danced amid the wind-blown leaves of the trees ahead of them. Her breath seized and she straightened, pointing. “What is that?”
Toran slowed the horse to a walk and let his arm drop from below her breasts. With some satisfaction, she saw him shake it a bit, easing the circulation back into it, before he spoke. So, she wasn’t the only one suffering.
“What ye see are the lights of the Aerie. We’re nearly there.”
As they rode closer, the trees thinned out. She gaped at the fortress that stood revealed. Steep-sided and tall, it loomed proud and alone on its high tor, keeping watch over the valley at its feet. The last rays of sunlight glinted on diamond-paned glass windows set near the top of a tall tower. Torches burned along the merlons, limning the top of the defensive works with flickering gold and sparking off of metal pikes that lined the crenellations.
Her heart began to pound as they left the trees and descended into the narrow glen. The closer they got, the higher the tor and the castle atop it loomed. She crossed her arms in front of her. Despite the chill wind, her palms were sweating. This edifice could indeed be defended against Colbridge. And the man who held her in his arms with such casual strength claimed to be the laird of all that light and soaring height. Her home had been a small village of farmers and herders, tied to a manor house, not to a castle with lords and ladies. Tears pricked her eyes as she realized she might never be accepted by people who lived in such a place.
And what would he do with her once he got her there? Shivering, she remembered that castles had dungeons. Surely, he couldn’t mean to throw her in the dungeon, could he?
Then she recalled how Toran had described it. A home like any other. Longing warred with anxiety and fatigue. Longing won.
“Let’s go, then,” she said, and heard Toran’s chuckle behind her—with amusement or sinister promise, she couldn’t tell. He wrapped an arm around her as he flicked the reins. The horse broke into a trot, headed home.
****
The evening activities in the Great Hall of the Aerie were usually just a congenial gathering of the men of the clan over their mead and ale, complete with boasts of conquests, be they battles or ladies, or discussions of current concerns. Tonight, the Hall was quiet, and the men sat at leisure staring into the fire, or carrying on low-voiced conversations. Toran took the subdued mood to be a reflection of their concern for the MacAnalens. Or his clan’s relief at his safe return. He found both ideas acceptable, until he noted Donal’s frowns in his direction as they ate a late meal.
“What ails ye, mon?” Toran finally asked. “Have I grown two heads, then?”
“Nay, Lathan, but I sometimes despair of the one ye do have.”
“Why is that, I wonder?” Toran said and gave Donal a grin, finding himself not to be so worn that he could not goad his long-time advisor. “Is it not handsome enough to please the ladies for miles around?” Coira liked him well enough. But why did he not seem to please the beautiful Healer? Toran’s grin fled his face. Damn, he ached to hold her again, as he had on the long ride to the Aerie. Her body had been lush and warm against him, her breasts heavy on the arm he’d wrapped securely around her ribs. Her body had been so tightly pressed between his thighs that even her tiniest movement had been sweet torture.
“Did yer head please the invader who captured ye?” Donal said, challenging him, yanking him back to the here and now. “He left it on yer shoulders, I see.” Donal leaned forward, glaring. “What did ye think to do, then, lad? Take on the whole invading army by yerself? Ye damn near scared the life out of me.”
“Nay, Donal,” Toran said, irritation growing along with embarrassment over Donal’s loudly expressed concern for his welfare. “But once the fighting started, I could scarce leave them to it, now could I,” he said, then sipped his mead, watchful of both his and Donal’s tempers. “I was there trying to make sure the feud our fathers fought died with them at Flodden. What do ye think the MacAnalens would ha’ done if they’d seen me riding away just as they came under attack?”
“Aye,” Kyle interjected.
Donal gave him a quelling look, and Kyle went back to serious drinking. Toran hid a smile.
“During the battle,” Toran continued, “I saw a lad too young to defend himself about to be overrun. I simply meant to give him time to slip away. I could not let him come to harm, now could I?” Toran’s expression was all innocence. He knew full well that Donal held charge over training the lads in the Aerie in the skills a warrior required for defense as well as for offense.
“Well done, then,” Donal remarked, taking a swallow from his tankard. Apparently this motive met with his approval.
“Not so well,” Toran continued, “for a moment later, the battle o’ertook me. I fought off the two who threatened the bairn.” Toran paused, trying to clear his foggy memory. “I took a blow from behind before I kenned it.” Toran fingered the torc at his throat. “I suspect the sight of this saved me. Likely whoever took me down mistook me for one of the MacAnalen lairds.”
“Ye always did have the luck,” another voice chimed in.
Toran glanced around to see who was listening to his well-deserved comeuppance. Ah, Parlan, the blacksmith, and several others, their attention rapt on the byplay between their laird and Donal. So, let them learn from his mistake. He certainly had. And the MacAnalens had suffered for it. Had he thought to send one of his men when he saw their peril…but no. He shook his head. It would not have helped. The Aerie lay too far away to get there and back with reinforcements before night fell or the fight ended. They’d done as well as anyone could, bringing Donal and the others to free him and the MacAnalens.
The best he could do for Angus now was being done. His scouts headed out to the hills around the invader camp. They carried weapons and supplies to help Angus protect his people until the invaders were gone, or until Toran could bring them safely into the Aerie.
“Mayhap they were surprised and engaged too quickly,” Kyle ventured. “Or their ghillies were slain before they could reach us. ’Tis good that our men made it back to raise the alarm, though seeing Banner riderless gave us a bad moment.”
Toran shrugged. “Whatever the reason, the battle went against them. And I spent the night enjoying the hospitality of the Healer’s tent.”
“The lass ye carried home?” Kyle asked, with mead-soaked admiration. “She’s a rare beauty, and one I wouldn’t mind trying.”
A sharp spasm of jealousy pierced Toran, but he hid his frown behind a quick swallow from his tankard.
“Aye, she’s a gifted healer, though I had little beside wounded pride and a pounding head to attend to.” Toran fixed Kyle and the others with a stern glare before he continued. “She’s a guest here, and not for the likes o’ ye,” he growled. “Nor me, either,” he muttered under his breath as he raised his tankard to his mouth, remembering how she’d fought him. But then, she’d responded to his kindness by healing the punctures in his arm. What did it mean?
Donal’s smirk told Toran that he’d overheard, but Kyle looked suitably chastened, so Toran went on with his tale and related what he’d learned from the MacAnalen captives before Donal and his men showed up to rescue their laird.
“The rest ye ken, except for the fact that the army’s leader took a bad cut to the shoulder and back this morning and rested in the Healer’s tent when ye arrived.”
Donal frowned. “Aye, that must ha’ been the scouting party we fought on the way to ye.” He slammed his tankard down and rose to his feet, hands planted on the tabletop. “D
amn it, we had the bastard and let him live twice, is that what ye’re telling me? Once when we wounded him and again when we left him alive in the camp?”
“Ye didna ken who he was,” Toran said, excusing Donal, waving him back to his seat. “And I thought it more prudent to leave while we could than to risk recapture while trying to get to him in the camp.”
But Donal would have none of that, not Toran’s excuses, nor his own. He was the same way on the training field. Toran expected no less from him.
“Nay, it can’t be. I’m certain I delivered a killing blow,” he said, his face stony, his voice subdued, as he sat, Then he straightened, his eyes gleaming with purpose. “Laird, I’ll go back in the mornin’ and finish him off.”
“Nay,” Toran replied, quickly, knowing Donal when he got his mind made up. Colbridge had been near to death, at least until the Healer got involved. “He’ll be too well guarded. Anyway, I expect we’ll have another chance,” Toran warned. “If he survives his injuries, he’ll no’ ignore an insult such as we gave him. The Aerie will be where he goes next, to take revenge on the ones who dared to free his prisoners and take his healer from his own compound.”
“A winter camped on the glen will take care of most of them for us,” Donal said, nodding slowly as he considered the matter. “The rest will be foolish enough to challenge our walls and we’ll pick them off at our leisure.”
“Indeed we shall,” Toran agreed. “We’d best be prepared to do so. Increase the watch on the walls, and make sure the gates are secured after the riders bring in the folk from the outlying farms. If Colbridge and his men should arrive before they get back, I want to know it.”
“Aye, Laird Lathan,” Donal said, acknowledging the order. “I’ll see to it, meself.”
Toran stood. “And if Angus MacAnalen shows up, no matter when, bring him to me immediately.” He drained the last drops in his tankard and set it on the table. “Get some rest,” he commanded. “We’ll be busy tomorrow, with or without invaders at our walls.”
