Highland Treasure

by Mary McCall

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  Chapter Two

  * * * *

  Highlands of Scotland, Three Weeks Later

  "I want the damn rogue skewered and roasting over a pit by nightfall! He killed my son, young Kevin and Susian. I'll not lose more clan to the gouging tusks of the beastie.” Leonce MacPherson leapt astride his white stallion, preparing to hunt the savage boar that wrought havoc on his clan.

  He had interrupted vengeance for this hunt. For the last two years he and his clansmen had relentlessly raided the Norman border lords in search of the unknown Norman enemy who had stolen Justice, his great sword, and butchered his clansmen, including his father and older brothers.

  For now, vengeance against that enemy would wait. Aye, first his son's death would be avenged.

  As he set off down the mountain trail, he resisted the urge to rub a pulsating tic in the scar that arced from his left temple to mid-cheek. He remembered other fingers that caressed his scarred flesh each night in his dreams. An ethereal vision of crystalline-blue eyes, flowing honey-gold curls and luscious lips danced before his mind's eye along with the melodic voice of his dream siren. “Be patient and wait for me, Lion. I vow you will receive Justice from my hands."

  "He was last spotted in the southeast forest,” Aonghus called, snapping Leonce from his reverie. His first commander was an old warrior whose stooped shoulders made him appear weary at five and fifty, but vitality sparkled in his pale green eyes.

  Bowyn, a brown-haired, muscular warrior a few years older than Leonce, nudged his mount alongside Aonghus. “Think you can keep up, old man?"

  "You have a way to go afore you can keep up with me, laddie.” The elder urged his horse into a gallop and sped the hunting party down the mountain.

  Halfway across the meadow, at the base of the mountain, a childish cry broke through the thunder of hooves.

  "Papa!"

  Leonce jerked his mount to a halt and gaped. Was he gone daft? Did he truly see his dead son bounding across the meadow toward him? The lad half carried, half dragged a large bundle. Leonce shook his head and looked again.

  "Papa, I'm back!” The tawny-headed, pixy-faced six-year-old waved excitedly, dropped his burden, and kept running.

  "Good God Almighty! Bertie!” Leonce raced toward the boy, leapt to the ground, and grabbed up the lad in a fierce embrace. The rest of the hunters arrived and witnessed the reunion. “Ah, Bertie, where have you been? I thought you dead."

  "Zounds!” Bertie pushed on Leonce's chest and looked at his father through big, shocked brown eyes. “You missed me?"

  "Missed you? Son, I thought I'd burned your few remaining bones. Where were you?” Leonce ruffled Bertie's tawny curls. He didn't appear any worse for whatever had happened to him.

  Bertie scrunched his face and shuddered. “In a cursed den of iniquity."

  Leonce scowled. “You've been wh—"

  "Wait! You know what?” Bertie's eyes danced. “I'll not be calling you Chief anymore. I'll be calling you Papa.” He boldly poked his father's shoulder. “And you're to bloody well get used to it."

  Leonce raised both brows. “I—"

  "Wait! And people can call me bastard if they want, ‘cause I am one. But if they call me no-good and filthy, then you're to chew their cursed rumps."

  The scar in Leonce's cheek twitched. “Who calls you—"

  "Wait! I've got a mission. Let me down."

  Leonce lowered his squirming son to the ground. The boy ran back, picked up the discarded bundle, and dragged it toward his father.

  Leonce reached out to relieve the burden.

  "Wait!” Bertie drew the bundle back. “'Tis my mission, and I'll be bloody well doing my duty right."

  Leonce pulled back his hand and waited.

  Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Bertie cleared his throat. “Chief MacPherson—"

  "I thought you were supposed to call me Papa?"

  "Not for my mission. Right now you're my chieftain."

  Leonce nodded once and crossed his arms. “Proceed."

  "Chief MacPherson, this day...this day...Ah, cursed! I forgot how I'm supposed to say it.” Bertie bowed his head and scuffed his toe in the grass.

  Leonce squatted down and nudged up his son's dejected face. “'Tis all right, lad. I'm just glad to have you home alive. Tell me whatever it is in any words you can think of."

  A slow smile spread across Bertie's face. “Papa, Justice is here!” He lifted the long, heavy bundle with both hands.

  Leonce stared at the parcel and went still. “Did you say Justice?"

  "Aye, and ‘tis cursed heavy.” Bertie's teeth gritted from the weight of his burden.

  Leonce took the bundle and with shaky hands unwrapped the great sword. He clenched his jaw and stared at the rubies, emeralds and sapphires inlaid into the ebony grip with the old, faded and bloodstained strip of MacPherson plaid still tied above the hilt. The warriors from the hunting party dismounted and gathered about them.

  Bertie could only have gotten this from one place: the domain of Clan MacPherson's greatest enemy. Anticipation blazed through Leonce. “Where did you get this, Bertie?"

  "From Lady Hope.” Bertie scratched his nose and grew somber. “Do you know she took a beating for me? I thought she was my heavenly guardian when I first woke up and saw her. We've been playing all kinds of fun games on our journey. I wanted to bring her home, but she says you'll kill her, ‘cause of her cursed father takin’ me and some other things he did.” He frowned. “You wouldn't do that, would you, Papa?"

  Leonce schooled his expression. So the lady was his enemy's daughter. Why had she helped Bertie? Surely she knew such an act would make her an outcast among her people, or lead to her death at her father's hands? “This Lady Hope gave you Justice and brought you home?"

  "Aye, and I'm bloody worried about her. She wouldn't sleep much, ‘cause she said ‘twas her duty to protect me. Now she's shivering and hot at the same time. And her back still hurts from the beatin'. She even fell a wee while ago."

  "Where is she?"

  Bertie gazed at his feet. “I can't tell you if you're going to kill her."

  Leonce settled a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. “No harm will come to the lass. ‘Tis a promise from a father and a chieftain."

  Bertie released his breath and smiled. “She was going to watch me cross the meadow from the path, then go back to the cave behind the waterfall."

  Leonce scanned the woods. A flash of ivory disappeared into the forest. “Come, Bertie. We'll tell Lady Hope that she is welcome here."

  "'Tis obvious this woman's father was behind the slaughter, Chief. You would welcome our enemy's daughter?” Bowyn asked.

  Leonce turned toward his men. “Nay. I welcome a brave woman who risked her life returning my son to me and Justice to Clan MacPherson,” he said sharply.

  Slipping the great sword through his belt, he mounted his stallion and reached down a hand to his son. “Come, Bertie. Let's go find the lass."

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  Chapter Three

  * * * *

  Standing near the purple-hued meadow by the forest's edge, Hope wistfully watched Leonce sweep Bertie up into his arms. Mayhap someday she would find someone who would be happy to have her come home.

  A vision of The MacPherson raging upon the field of carnage arose in her mind. He towered, a giant of a man, sinewy steel rippling beneath bronzed flesh. His long, tawny mane tossed in a savage wind, and rage contorted his rugged face as he opened his mouth. His battle cry roared through her head.

  Fear shivered through Hope. The MacPherson was pure warrior. A deadly foe. If he ever caught her, the Highland code would demand vengeance. She had no doubt he would rape her to avenge her father's intention to rape Bertie, and then kill her to avenge the slaughter of his kin. If he should discover her crime against his clan, her death would be torturous and slow.

  She shouldn't linger, but the scene moved her. She longed to sha
re Bertie's joy. Loneliness for his company would haunt her. It crept through her now and made it nearly impossible to ignore the burning pain in her back.

  Zounds! The Lion was looking in her direction. She had to flee fast. Sleeping at the falls was out of the question. Bertie might be an adorable boy, but she shouldn't have trusted the little talker. He hadn't shut his mouth the whole time they traveled.

  Hope forced herself into a sprint, but her fevered and pain-wracked body rebelled. Her heart slammed, and her chest grew tight. She needed air.

  Midway down the trail, a spasm stabbed her side like a dagger twisting between her ribs. Halting, she leaned forward, bracing one hand on a knee and pressing the other against the agonizing stitch. She struggled to breathe and wondered which hurt worse, her back or her chest.

  The muscles tensed in her nape. Who had spotted her? As an angry snort resonated, she slowly glanced up. A giant gray boar with bloodstained tusks pawed the earth several yards in front of her.

  Curses and zounds! The beast would charge the instant she moved. She could never win in this condition! Holding as still as possible, she scanned the area for the nearest climbable tree. The lowest branch, twice her height from the ground, was on a flimsy birch about three yards away.

  Hope eased the hand on her side to the lace that secured her whip onto her belt. With her eyes on the boar and heart hammering in her throat, she pulled the string and grasped the handle. She raced for the tree, jumped, and snapped her whip, coiling the lash around the branch. With her last remaining strength, she hauled herself up onto the limb.

  The boar rammed into the tree, squealing with rage and shaking the branches. Hope dropped the whip, clutched the branch with both hands, and released a melodious call.

  Her faithful horse-friend Diable charged onto the scene and slammed his powerful front hooves upon the right side of the beast, cutting into its back. Harry, her loyal eagle-friend, swooped down and raked his sharp talons down the length of the swine on the opposite side. The combined assault confused the boar. The beast retreated into the forest with Diable and Harry in pursuit.

  * * * *

  When Leonce arrived with Bertie and the hunting party, he saw the rogue fleeing with a savage black stallion at his tail and a killer eagle on his back.

  "Mam!” Bertie squirmed on Leonce's lap, trying to get down.

  The warriors went after the trio, all except for Aonghus and Bowyn, who both stopped when they heard Bertie cry out. Aonghus appeared stunned and Bowyn outraged. Bertie's frantic movements made Leonce's white stallion jittery.

  Leonce tightened his hold on his son and brought his mount under control. Then he noticed the terrified woman clinging to a limb above them.

  "But we have to save her!” Bertie demanded.

  "We will. Now calm down.” Dismounting, Leonce set Bertie on the ground and went to stand beneath the branch where the young woman perched. The sun shone through the limbs, surrounding her with a halo of light. He took in the honey-gold curls that flowed in waves, long as the woman was tall. Terrified sapphire eyes stared at him above trembling, sensuous lips. God Almighty, she was his dream siren, and right now she was damn near petrified.

  "Lady Hope, ‘tis safe to come down. Jump, and I'll catch you.” Leonce held his arms toward her but detected not the slightest response. “The danger is gone. Just let go."

  Hope stared at Leonce, and he had the feeling she was trying to hide her fear. Harry landed on her shoulder and wrapped a wing around her head. The eagle caressed her cheek with his head.

  "Saint Columba! I've never seen the like,” Bowyn exclaimed. “That killer bird tries to comfort her."

  "'Tis ‘cause he's her friend.” Bertie stood beside Leonce and looked up at Hope. “Mam, Papa is strong, and he's not like the evil baron."

  Leonce saw Hope shudder as though she were chilled. Harry flew down and perched on his shoulder, and Leonce detected in Hope's glare at her feathered friend that she was none too pleased at the bird's familiarity with him.

  "'Tis truly safe for you to jump,” Leonce said.

  Diable returned and stood beside him, neighing and tossing his long snout. Hope shook her head at the stallion and set her jaw, appearing angry over his defection. She seemed determined to stay on her perch until her bones rotted and blew away.

  Bertie tugged his father's plaid until he looked down. “Mayhap she fears you'll touch her back. ‘Tis cursed bad, and ‘twas bleeding."

  Leonce returned his gaze to Hope. “You must come down. Let go of the branch. When you jump, grab me around my neck. I'll not touch your back."

  Her guarded gaze darted about and then returned to him, but she remained mute.

  Aonghus walked up behind Bertie and placed a withered hand on the boy's shoulder. “Would you be wanting advice from an old man, lad?"

  "I'm open to any suggestions you might have,” Leonce replied, without taking his gaze from the vision in the tree.

  "Appears to me that you'll be standing there for the rest of the day unless someone goes up and knocks her down."

  As if in response, the eagle flew up and flapped his wings around Hope's head.

  Leonce stared as Hope released one hand to ward off Harry. The action threw her off balance, and she tumbled forward, reaching for the only thing that could break her fall. She clasped her arms around Leonce's neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. He wrapped two big hands around her to support her bottom.

  She tensed and locked her gaze on the powerfully corded muscles in the Highlander's neck. Curses and zounds! She didn't have the strength to win against such a brute on a good day. How could she possibly win while exhausted and fevered?

  She glowered and punched his shoulder. “You may have won because I'm so cursed tired, Lion, but when you take me, you bloody well better keep me off my back."

  God's bones, she must be delirious, for she couldn't know what she was inviting. Her speech intrigued him. She spoke Gaelic with a few English expletives tossed in. He wondered where an English lass would have learned Gaelic.

  He slipped an arm beneath her bottom and supported her neck with his other hand. Her fevered brow pressed against his neck, and she went limp. He realized she had fainted.

  Excitement flowed through him. His dream siren had finally come to him, and he wasn't about to let her go.

  He whistled for his mount and prepared to leave.

  "Wait! ‘Tis Mam's whip.” Bertie ran over and picked up the lash.

  From his mount, Bowyn scowled. “This woman's father is our enemy. She's not your mother."

  "I know, Bowyn.” Bertie shrugged, and then grinned. “But ‘tis a bloody fun game. ‘Tis called family. I pretend she's my mother, and she pretends I'm her wee son. The best part is when she holds me on her lap and tells me stories, but ‘tis bloody fun learnin’ to use a bow too.” His eyes grew wide. “Wait! All her things are at the falls."

  "Would you take Bertie for the lass's belongings, Aonghus?” Leonce asked. “She needs tending, and ‘tis past time Justice took her rightful place."

  "Aye.” The old warrior grinned. “Come, laddie.” He guided Bertie toward his mount. “Let's hasten to gather your mother's belongings while we talk about the colorful language you picked up over the past several weeks. These old eyes want to watch The MacPherson return Justice to her place of honor."

  After mounting his steed, Leonce draped Hope across his lap with her legs hanging over his left thigh. He pulled her left shoulder against his chest and encircled an arm around her waist. Then he nudged his mount into an easy canter down the path toward the meadow. Hope tilted forward, and Leonce caught her, inadvertently placing his fingers over her breast.

  Leonce heard Hope gasp as she awoke and then moan as her back hit his iron-hard arm. He pressed a large hand against her belly to stop her struggling away from him.

  "Would you stop your cursed mount and let me settle!"

  Leonce halted the stallion. Before he knew what she intended, Hope drew her left leg ac
ross his lap and straddled the horse, facing him. She draped her legs over his and wrapped one of her arms around his waist. She leaned her forehead against his chest and petted the hairy flesh next to her cheek with her hand. “At least you have fur and heat."

  She pressed her cheek against him and then went limp. Leonce gritted his teeth, acutely aware of her open loin above his. Damn if his lust wasn't rising to the occasion. Bowyn chuckled, and Leonce nudged his mount onward. Lady Hope was either totally naive or the cruelest woman he'd ever encountered.

  Aonghus and Bertie caught up to them on the far side of the meadow, by the outer curtain of Clan MacPherson's mountain. Word of Justice's arrival preceded the small group. As they cantered through the fore and up the main trail, clansmen fell into procession behind their chieftain. By the time they arrived at the keep, more than three hundred MacPherson warriors had assembled, casting curious gazes toward the woman in their laird's arms.

  Leonce tossed his leg over his mount's neck and slid to the ground, keeping a firm grip on Hope, who still slumbered against his chest with her legs wrapped around his waist. He took the twenty steps up to the wide landing in front of the main entrance two at a time, halted, and shifted her weight to one arm. Removing Justice from his belt, he faced the warriors and hefted the great sword high above his head. “Justice has returned to the MacPhersons!"

  A thunderous chorus of cheers followed the announcement as the warriors rejoiced at the tidings. Pipes played a time-honored festive tune, and a call went out to break open kegs of whisky.

  Receiving the expected response, Leonce spun about and entered the keep. He didn't wait for the questions that were sure to come. The lass needed tending, and he had no answers yet. The outer doors led directly into a cavernous hall of gigantic proportions, which served as both dining and gathering area. To his left were two sets of stairs; the first led to a huge barrack chamber below for the single warriors, the other to the living quarters above for the chief and his family.