The Outcast Highlander

by R. L. Syme

  “Why?” Alec whispered.

  “I could have sworn I recognized the man. But it was such a fleeting… would Fergus or Tegan have followed without our knowing?”

  Alec took up a defensive stance in front of Kensey, so she couldn’t see whatever Will referred to. When she tried to rise, Alec gestured for her to remain seated.

  “Let us discover who this man is first, my lady. If it is a Ross, we don’t want them to know you are with us. You would be too fair a prize.”

  She crossed her arms. So like men to assume she needed to be protected. But if it were a Ross, certainly she would be the most likely to attempt negotiations. She was noble, after all. They wouldn’t dare try to capture her, not really.

  The whole camp remained at attention for several minutes before anyone dared speak again. “Hector, take Ellis and sweep the forest until you find whatever makes the noise. The rest of you, try to get some sleep.”

  Will returned to Kensey’s side and settled on the tree without touching her. He gave her a tight smile. “Please try to sleep, my lady. I will wake you if anything should happen. You have my word.”

  Alec paced nervously as Kensey settled at the base of the tree trunk, leaning her cheek on the rough surface like an uncomforting pillow. She only managed to stay awake long enough to hear the first snores fill the chilly air.

  Before she knew what was happening, Kensey woke to Will’s shifting body. She could tell by the sky that time had passed, but she hadn’t even managed a dream and immediately felt disoriented.

  Both Alec and Will were on their feet, peering over the edge of the bush line. None of the other men had yet woken.

  Alec perked and motioned behind them. Kensey listened carefully and heard footfalls approaching. She gathered her cloak in anticipation of needing to run for her horse, but Will stilled her with a move of his hand.

  “It’s just one,” Alec assured him. “I’d say you’re safe to go out and look, William.”

  At that, Will stood in the bush cover and Kensey took his place at Alec’s side. She gasped as she glimpsed Malcolm running toward them at a furious pace. One side of his face and his right leg were covered in blood.

  “It’s him,” Alec called behind him, “and he’s hurt.”

  Kensey looked back to find all the men standing at attention, hands on either sword hilt or bow. Alec called out in the loudest whisper he could, “Orrick, Hector. Run down and get the horses. It looks as though we will not be staying.”

  “Does he have the girl?” one of the men called.

  Kensey’s heart sank at the realization. Not only was Malcolm injured, but he was alone. And they were about to leave Balconie without Fiona.

  “Nay, I do not have her.” Malcolm stumbled through the bushes with Will at his side, one arm around his shoulders. Kensey shuddered at the sight of the blood on his face and the gash on his leg.

  “We have no time.” Malcolm thrust out his hand to stop the drawing of weapons. “Ross was injured as well, but he will raise his men to come after me once he recovers. We must leave at once.”

  “We’ll stand and fight them,” boomed Alec.

  Malcolm shot him a silencing glance. “Colin Ross has fifty warriors at the ready. Once he wakes from his injury, he will roust them all and send them after me. We must be away.”

  “There is no need to risk good men in senseless massacre,” Will agreed. “There will be plenty of time for more fighting.”

  Malcolm’s blue eyes showed some surprise that the young warrior agreed with him, but he called for his horse and continued to lean on Will for support.

  Kensey had so many questions. Before she could ask any of them, however, Alec pulled her down the hill and gave her a boost up onto Brid’s back and she felt the familiar pains of riding come upon her again. Groaning, she took the reins.

  “Can you ride, lass?” Malcolm asked, watching Alec assist her. He waited at Brid’s nose until she was fully seated.

  “I can.” She knew it was a lie as soon as it was out of her mouth. She was sore and tired, and at that moment, she wanted little more than to curl up back against that tree and return to sleep. “I will be fine.” She lied, outright, but did not want their progress to be slowed because of her.

  “We can always have you ride with one of us, and we can bring your horse,” Alec assured her. But she shook her head

  “I can ride.”

  “Traveling with a wounded man and a woman,” Malcolm gestured at his leg, “we may need to keep a slower pace.” He looked behind them and Kensey’s eyes followed. A few torches bobbing slowly toward them from the base of the keep. “There are the men.”

  “They’re at least two miles off, yet.” Alec turned to Malcolm for orders.

  “Make haste!” Malcolm turned around to face the men, gasping from atop his horse. Kensey could see that someone had hastily wrapped his wounded leg, though it hung limply against his horse. “We must try to lose them before the sun comes up.”

  “We should take to the forest.” Alec pointed to the eastern ridge of the near hill. “We could easily lose them there.”

  “In a forest they know like you know Norse Ridge?” Will snorted. “We would do better to cut across the open field. At least we’re in front of them.”

  “Our horses are tired, and theirs are fresh,” argued Alec, his face wrinkling in frustration. “We ride with a wounded man and a woman to boot—a woman whose horse has ridden half around the world since sunup yesterday. We will never beat them in the open. Not with a ten mile start ahead of them.”

  Kensey could not argue with the sense of what Alec said, but worried that traversing a strange forest at near-dark would ensure some unforeseen catastrophe.

  “If we remain here, we will forego the need for a chase at all.” Malcolm grunted, the anger in his voice rising. He looked from Kensey to the men advancing across the clearing and back to Kensey. She could see worry in his dark eyes, which reminded her of another pair of dark eyes.

  “We’ll take to the forest,” Malcolm finally yelled to the men. “Stay in sight of one another. Do not lose Kensey and her red mare. Keep an eye to the ground, and watch your footing. Don’t look back and slow us. If you hear Alec’s horn, turn and have your weapons ready. We fight only if we must. I will not lose a man today.”

  Or a woman, hoped Kensey.

  They began riding, though their pace was slow. Alec kept just ahead of her, calling out when she would need to dodge a low-hanging branch or jump a roadblock. She tried to keep the trail in her sight, but the light was lower than it had been on their trip to Balconie, and she could barely make out the edges of the worn path.

  Soon, she couldn’t even hear Alec’s warnings and the foliage thickened to the point where she was certain she’d lost the path. With a racing heart and short breaths, she tried to steer Brid to her right, assuming that she’d hit the trail eventually, but she only found more darkness.

  Her heavy eyes ached fiercely, and she tried to call out to Alec, then Malcolm, then Will, to no avail. She had been the slow one. She called out again and still, no answer above the thud of Brid’s hoof beats and her own heart in her ears.

  Suddenly, a branch caught her in the stomach and held her in the air while her horse continued to ride. She landed on the hard earth with a thud and her wind left her. The edges of her vision blackened and she tried to find her voice once more, but only silence echoed back as the world faded around her.

  Chapter Four

  Broc’s heart pounded louder than Ross’ warrior mounts as he followed Kensey’s horse off the path. She had an uneasy seat to begin with, and he was sure she wouldn’t survive for long in the full dark.

  If he hadn’t circled back to find the group of his kinsmen riding off into the night and Kensey among them, she might not have survived at all. But by all that was holy, he was going to find her and bring her home.

  He wasn’t more than a few hundred yards ahead of the Ross’
horsemen when he saw her trail lead off into the thicker woods and he hoped the group would stick to the worn trail instead of following him. Gaidel’s massive hooves were hard to miss in the soft earth, but he hoped the ground covering would hide enough that he could shake them.

  After a few minutes, Kensey’s trail led him far enough into the dense woods, he had to slow almost to a walk to dodge the natural blockages to his progress. Surely, the heavy horse would either turn back at their slowed progress, or know to follow the fresh tracks of the larger band.

  Something moved to his right and he halted to a dead stop, holding Gaidel’s rein tight enough to prevent any motion. He scanned the dense foliage and listened. A movement again. A horse’s head peeked through the trees. But no rider.

  It was Kensey’s red roan mare. Small and still. She didn’t spook at Gaidel’s presence. Perhaps she recognized him. He cooed to her and slipped off Gaidel’s back. She froze, eyes unblinking, and he snatched her reins.

  With a quick movement, he led her back to where he’d last seen her hoof prints, where his stallion waited. Broc tied the small mare to his saddlebag and went forward on foot, all the while listening for more horses and watching for Kensey.

  His entire body tensed when he first saw her, lying in a knot on the ground. He couldn’t breathe at first, then he sprang into action. The ground around her showed no signs of blood and a cursory check of her head produced no evidence other than a rounding bump near her left ear where she either hit a tree or hit the ground.

  Blast it all. Why hadn’t he stayed with her when he first brought her to St. Claire? He could have borne the strange ill will of his brothers more than this. If she were injured beyond repair, or God forbid, dead, he would never forgive himself.

  But when he turned her over, she gulped a huge breath. Her eyes remained closed and Broc trailed a hand down the side of her face, trying to convince himself he was checking for something and not just wanting to touch her.

  His hands continued to check for signs of injury, while always attempting to maintain her dignity. But the extremities must be free of injury if he were going to attempt to move her.

  Either pain or fear fluttered her eyes open and she moved lazily, as though she’d been at the drink. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  Broc couldn’t contain his reluctant smile. Even in her delicate state, she managed to sound like a queen on her throne. “A real lady shouldn’t curse like that.”

  “A real gentleman shouldn’t speak of it.”

  His smile faded. She was right. It was presumptuous of him to continue to call her out in her distress. He straightened and gestured to her horse.

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, may I ask why your horse grazes yonder when there are men who chase you?”

  “Oh, stop, you impertinent fool.” Kensey shook his hand away and searched the area around her for something. “I was knocked off my horse.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  She sighed. “I would like to get up and resume my travels.”

  So she looked for something to pull herself up with, yet ignored his help. How like her. He must be beneath her notice. Or her care.

  “Let me help you.” He stood and offered both hands. She considered him for a moment and finally touched him again. He couldn’t deny a tiny thrill at having won the fight, or at having her hands in his. But her frustration continued.

  She furrowed her brow and released his hands. First one step, then another. But on the third step, she began to sway and Broc had to follow quickly to catch her.

  “You’re in no state to be walking.” He swept her into his arms, despite her protest, and stilled her grasping hands by hooking both of her wrists together in one grip. “Nor riding.”

  He deposited her atop his horse and jumped up before she could make any more fuss. The Ross men obviously hadn’t followed them, but they would have to proceed carefully from here, knowing they may come back upon them at any time.

  Broc urged his horse forward into a slow cantor, searching for the least dense path forward. In his lap, Kensey pulled on the dirty folds of her dress, dislodging bits of the forest floor that still clung to the delicate fabric.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Let’s get you out of here first, lass.” He glanced back into the thick canopy of stillness for a moment. “Ross’s men may be quick on our heels.”

  Sitting against him as she was now, she felt tiny and vulnerable. His cloak had opened as he’d climbed onto Gaidel’s back and she was now sitting in the midst of it, against his nearly bare chest. She seemed to suck up all the warmth in his body as she curled against him. Her eyelashes blinked furiously, as though she tried to keep herself awake when sleep called. He reached down and wrapped the warmth of the cloak around her.

  “You can sleep. It appears we’ve lost our pursuers and it will be slow progress back to the trail, if we even dare to follow it.”

  “I’m not tired.” She yawned and her weight pressed even more against him. She would no doubt be asleep soon. His body tensed against the desire that tried to consume him. This was his brother’s intended.

  He was merely delivering her back to him.

  Not enjoying having her in his arms. Not at all.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him, her eyelids falling around those deep green eyes that gazed up at him as she curled into the crook of his arm.

  “Someone must look after you, lass.” He steeled his heart and returned his attention to the trees. “You appear not to have much desire for your own safety.”

  “I must know… what…” Kensey said slowly. “What is your name, sir?”

  He looked down at her smooth cheek, pressed against his chest, and a wave of heat passed through him. His voice was rough as he answered her, “Broccin. Broccin Sinclair.”

  “My father would be… very displeased, Broccin Sinclair… if he were to learn of this.” Yawns punctuating her quiet warning.

  “Of what? That I saved you?”

  “That I’m falling asleep in your arms.”

  And that I’m enjoying it, Broc added silently. Instead, he drew her completely into his chest so that her entire weight relaxed against his body and her head fit snugly below his chin, freeing his arm to grab the reins as they turned east.

  Her arms settled around his waist and Broc held his breath as he thought she might climb onto the saddle facing him. His body would not respond chastely and he tried to keep her settled.

  “It will be our secret, lass. I am sure.” He relaxed a bit so she could be in a more comfortable position, but her closeness and touch affected him much more than he’d considered. Her head rested against his chest as if she listened to his heart. He felt the rhythm of her breathing and looked down to see that her eyes were heavy with sleep.

  He also saw other things. The curve of her body under the light fabric of a green dress. The fullness of her lips, enticing him from sleep. The perfect, long feathers of dark eyelash against a pink cheek. The way she fit there, perfectly, curving into him like they’d been made to fit each other. How good it felt to have a woman in his arms. But more specifically, this woman. Among all the things he noticed about her, he also noticed how his own body responded to her intimate embrace. His blood warmed, ached. Even the rhythm of the horse’s hoof beats and the chill of the night air couldn’t distract him from the desire that rose from deep within him.

  They rode this way until the first rays of light peeled through the thinning branches. A cluster of dimpled imprints marred the intermittent clearings in the ground. In a gradual shift, the tracks led off to the west, toward the open field. Trying not to wake the sleeping bundle in his arms, Broccin tugged at the reins and guided his horse out of the forest, into the rising sun.

  Turn north, for home.

  Malcolm had obviously taken the harder path, winding straight up the rockier face of Ben More Assynt and through MacLeod
land. But Broccin decided to keep to the valleys. The even terrain would provide more comfort for his aching body, and his sleeping lass.

  They kept to the base of the mountain, staying to the trees until Broc was certain the Ross men had either given up or been defeated. They were well into MacLeod lands, where Ross would have to be in immediate pursuit in order to be allowed to cross.

  Then, almost without warning, the Sinclair men came into view. They had turned around, either in pursuit of the Ross men or because they’d become aware that Kensey was missing, and were headed straight for them.

  “Wake up, lass.” Broccin flipped his hood up and flexed his chest outward, in hope that the movement might help to bring her out of sleep. Instead, she burrowed closer to him and let one arm slip low on his waist. She began to turn toward him, as though she meant to straddle him, and that thought almost undid his carefully fortified reserve.

  Broccin kicked his horse and at the pressure on his bit, Brid jerked; that movement did rouse her. He tried to prepare himself to see the disappointment on her face at waking to find him as her rescuer, but hoped that being soon delivered to Duncan would bring a smile back to that face. That most beautiful of faces. He would do anything to keep it there. Even give her back to his brother.

  ***

  Kensey awoke to find her arms encircling the stranger’s waist and her face planted on his chest. “Oh, dear,” she sputtered, pulling away from him. Her hands flew to her now-flushing face and he slowed his horse.

  “Don’t worry, lass.” He expelled a slow breath and pulled his horse to a stop. Almost in one fluid movement, he disentangled her, lifted her from his lap, and placed her on her feet on the ground. “You were the very definition of propriety. There is nothing to report to your father.”

  Given how she woke, perhaps that was a lie.

  “But...”

  “You are welcome, and goodbye.” He allowed his eyes to linger on hers for a few seconds before he urged his horse onward and to the east, away from the road that would lead them to her home, picking up speed quickly.