A Rebel's Desire

by Aileen Adams

  What was the matter?

  She glanced frantically at the ground, thinking there was something down there, a snake perhaps, but saw nothing. Her heart pounding, every muscle in her body tightened with apprehension.

  “Easy, girl,” she soothed.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The horse skittered to the side again and then broke into a gallop.

  Heather could only hold on.

  No… no! The mare wasn't going in the right direction! She was headed toward flatter ground, but picked up pace, frightened by something, but what?

  For a few seconds, her hair flying behind her, the wind whipping at her kirtle and making her eyes water, Heather thought about allowing herself to fall off. No telling how far the horse would carry her before it slowed or tripped and threw her.

  She could be badly injured, out in the middle of nowhere.

  Jake would die.

  No, she couldn't risk losing her mount.

  Gathering her strength, she leaned low and clung tightly as the mare galloped over the grassy ground. It sped past her in a dizzying blur. She tried to wrap the reins around her hands, attempted to pull the horse's head down, muzzle closer to her chest. That would slow her down. Then, if she pulled on one of the reins harder, she could get the horse to at least turn in a circle.

  Finally, she succeeded. The horse slowed, stamping and blowing, tail swishing and ears flicked back. She managed to slow the horse back to a walk and then a complete stop. The horse turned back in the direction from which they had come, her ears now tilted forward, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.

  What happened? What had caused the mare to bolt—and then she saw it.

  An arrow had embedded itself in the mare’s left rear flank!

  Where had that—Ceana!

  At that moment, Heather felt a surge of hatred rising from deep inside. An emotion that she had not felt since she and her sister had escaped Patrick's abusive home on the coastline.

  As she had feared, Ceana had followed her. Her heart pounded as her mind raged in despair. How badly had the mare been wounded? Could she continue? Making soothing noises to calm the mare, she twisted slightly and was able to get a better look at the injury. The arrowhead had embedded itself in the thick muscles of the mare’s haunch, but no deeper. Continuing to murmur soothing sounds to the horse, and still tightly grasping her mane and the reins with her right hand, Heather reached back, wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the arrow near its base, and in one, swift move, pulled the arrowhead out.

  The horse remained calm. Heather stared at the arrowhead, scowling. In disgust, she flung the arrow to the ground, casting an angry glare behind her.

  They had to move.

  Ceana had a horse, two of them perhaps, and Clyde McGregor was also out there somewhere, wounded but likely still dangerous. Whether the two were still together, she had no idea. She couldn't linger.

  “Come on, girl, we've got to keep going,” she spoke softly to the mare.

  With a slight tap of her heels, the horse broke into a canter. Heather spied the stream Jake had told her about, and as the ground was flatter but still strewn with rocks, she allowed the horse to walk faster, but not quite a trot. Too bone-jarring for her already sore and bruised body and dangerous footing for the mare.

  Constantly glancing back over her shoulder and searching the surrounding landscape, she tried to remember the next part of the path. Jake had said maybe a mile, hadn't he? She should look for a cluster of stones on a hillside.

  She watched the horse’s ears, knowing that if the mare heard something, the twitch of her ears would let her know. Her heart continued to pound. Every muscle in her body expressed protest over her efforts, not only to stay mounted, but due to the deepening bruises and aches caused by her tumble down the cliffside and then her fight with Ceana.

  She had to hurry.

  If Ceana didn't come after her, she might just head back for Jake.

  Groaning with frustration, she searched for the next landmark. After rounding a slight bend in the stream, she spied the hillside dotted with giant boulders off to the right, maybe one hundred yards away. The landscape was flatter now, long grasses, rocky, but offering greater visibility.

  So intent on repeatedly looking back over her shoulder for any indication that Ceana or the McGregor were following her, she didn't notice movement toward the east right away. Once again, it was the mare who sensed trouble.

  It wasn't long after she had passed the cluster of stones and turned the horse eastward, intent on looking for the next stream that Jake had mentioned that she noticed movement at the base of the mountain—was she finally rounding the bottom of Ben Nevis?

  She did not recognize any landmarks from this direction, but she should be close. She peered at the movement.

  What was that?

  She pulled the mare to a halt and looked for shelter, but while the area was dotted with low hills, she was out in the open. The tree line was off to the northwest, maybe a half mile away. Perhaps it had been foolish of her not to stay close to the trees a bit to the north, but she couldn't do anything about that now.

  Her horse blew and stomped impatiently as she tried to assess the movement up ahead.

  Could it be a deer herd?

  As she stared, the movement paused, then switched direction. H

  eaded toward her now. Her heart thumped to her stomach and she felt a surge of panic. Was that Ceana riding toward her, prepared to shoot her again? Or could it be the McGregor? What to do?

  She cast a quick look around and realized that she could make for the trees, but even at a run, she had no idea where to go from there.

  By the time she glanced back, she saw the definite outline of a horse and rider. Moving quickly in her direction. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself.

  She kicked the mare in the ribs, turning her for the trees. Any kind of shelter was better than staying out here in the open.

  Just as she urged the horse forward, the figure raised an arm and shouted.

  “Heather!”

  The man's voice echoed over the low valley, nearly swallowed up by the fog and clouds drifting low over the hillsides. She froze.

  The mare stomped impatiently.

  She squinted and tried to make out the figure.

  In the far distance, behind the advancing rider, came another small cluster of horses.

  “Heather!”

  A few seconds later, she was able to make out more features of the rider galloping toward her.

  It was Maccay!

  “Maccay!” she shouted, urging her horse forward.

  Moments later, they approached one another. Maccay’s eyes widened when he saw her bloodstained sleeve and his gaze swept over her dirty and torn clothing. Her hair had long before untangled from most of her braid. Her eyes wide with desperation, she cut him off just as he spoke.

  “Heather, what happened—”

  “Jake's hurt! We must go to him!” She frantically gestured over her shoulder in the direction she had come.

  “So are you, lass,” Maccay said, reaching for her horse’s reins.

  She didn't want to relinquish her grip, but Maccay had already grabbed the reins just below her mare’s jaw.

  “No, Maccay, let me go! I'll show you where he is!” She kicked the mare’s sides. She skittered to the side, but with Maccay holding onto her reins, she couldn't go anywhere.

  “Stop, Heather. We'll go get Jake, but tell me what's happened.” He glanced back over his shoulder and gestured toward the small group of horses and riders approaching. “They'll be here in a minute. Everything will be all right now.”

  “No, everything is not all right!” she cried, fear, desperation, and overwhelming fatigue overcoming her former calm.

  She was safe.

  Maccay was here.

  But what about Jake?

  Maccay was wasting time!

  Hoofbeats approached, and her eyes widened with dismay as she recognized not only Hugh, but
the Laird. And behind Phillip Duncan, rode her sister.

  Tears filled her eyes. So too did guilt and shame. How could she face her sister and her brother-in-law? She had been so foolish. So utterly foolish. And now her foolishness could very well cost Jake his life.

  “Heather!” Sarah cried out as their horses approached. Before her horse came to a full stop and Phillip could stop her, Sarah had dismounted and rushed toward Heather, reaching her arms up for her younger sister.

  Heather allowed her sister to help her off the horse and immediately crumpled to the ground, her legs refusing to hold her up.

  “Sarah, we need to go help Jake. Please!” She turned toward Phillip, who had ridden closer, while tightly grasping her sister's arms. “Jake's wounded, Phillip! We have to help him!”

  “What happened?” Phillip asked, dismounting along with Maccay as they gathered around her. “Where's Jake?”

  Even though she was now surrounded by members of the Duncan clan, she felt an even greater sense of immediacy.

  Her fear provoked a wild trembling, so much so that she could barely speak. Lamely, she gestured toward the direction from which he had come.

  “He's up there, near the top of the mountain! Please, we need to go help him!”

  Sarah quickly looked at Heather's arm, winced, and then looked up at her. “You need to calm down, Heather. This is a knife wound. Tell us what's happened.”

  Tears streamed from Heather's eyes as she swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried to explain. She rushed through the story.

  “I fell down a cliff and was stuck on a ledge. That was the second night I was gone. Jake found me there. He got us back on top.” She took a deep breath, realizing she might not be making any sense. “We had to spend the second night in a copse of trees. The rain had come, and he said it was too dangerous to—” She broke off. “Jake was…” Her voice now rushed in garbled gasps of breath, her fear and anxiety nearly overwhelming her.

  Sarah wrapped her arm around her shoulder and helped her to stand.

  Her sister’s strength comforted her.

  She looked up at Phillip, Maccay, and Hugh along with several others of the Duncan clan and then turned to the Laird.

  “Ceana,” she said. “And two men from the McGregor clan… someone called Clyde… I think Jake called him a McGregor.”

  An enraged growl erupted from Phillip’s throat.

  Sarah glanced at her husband, and then back to her sister.

  “What happened?”

  She turned to Sarah, her vision blurred with tears. Her mouth moved wordlessly and then she looked up at Phillip.

  “She shot him!” she whispered, her voice filled with disbelief. “With an arrow, in his shoulder. And then one of the McGregors stabbed him in the back with a sword—

  The growl that erupted from Phillip’s throat was echoed immediately by Maccay and Hugh.

  Curses and threats of revenge followed.

  “Please, we must hurry,” she said, stepping back toward her horse and turning to her sister. “Please Sarah, help me up! Ceana is still back there. She shot an arrow at me, but she missed. It hit my mare,” she gestured toward the wound, not showing any signs of recent bleeding. “Please, we must go back, now! If Ceana finds him before we get there, she'll—”

  “Maccay, you and Sarah and Fergus, take Heather back to the manor—”

  “No! I'm coming with you. I know the way!”

  “Heather, you're hurt. You're safe now—”

  She turned toward her sister, unable to stop the tears. “I don't care! Jake isn't safe. I must protect him! You must come. He needs your help!”

  Sarah nodded and looked toward her husband. “Phillip, she's right. Jake has been wounded and he needs my help.”

  Phillip gave a brief nod. “Fergus, you and Maccay take Heather back to the manor—”

  “No! I'm going with you!”

  “Heather, please—”

  A sense of desperation took over, and Heather turned toward her sister, prompting her to place both hands on her shoulder and lock eyes with her.

  “I love him, Sarah, do you understand? I love him! I won't leave him up there. I can't! Everyone is always protecting me! I won't have it anymore, do you hear me? I won't have it!”

  Panic threaten to bubble upward.

  Only with the greatest resolve did she manage to calm her raging emotions.

  She looked to Phillip. “Please. I know the way. If I try to give you directions, I might make a mistake. We have to—”

  Phillip raised a hand in nodded toward Maccay.

  Without a word, Maccay stepped toward Heather, grabbed her waist, and then lifted her up onto her horse. He grabbed her hand, wrapped it around one of the horse’s reins, and looking her directly in the eye, spoke.

  “You've done yourself proud, lass,” he said. “I will right beside you, and the rest of us will follow. But if we see any sign of the McGregors, Ceana, or anything else that even hints at a whiff of danger, you will follow my orders whether you like it or not.”

  Heather stared at Maccay. She had never heard him speak so forcefully and couldn't help but shiver at the look of determination in his gaze. Then she realized that his anger was centered on Ceana and the McGregors, not herself.

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  20

  Heather sat next to Jake's bed in his bedchamber at Duncan Manor. It'd been two days since they had retrieved Jake from the top of the mountain.

  Heather could barely move, her body bruised and her muscles stiff and cramped from her physical trials.

  The group of Duncan clansmen had not seen any sign of Ceana as Heather guided them back the way she had come down, desperation eating at her conscience, dreading that Ceana had made her way back up the mountain to finally succeed in her endeavor to kill Jake. Then again, maybe she thought Jake was dead.

  As they had topped the ridge and Heather pointed to the copse of trees, it'd taken everything she had inside—and with Sarah holding her back—not to scramble down from her mount and run to the tree, scrambling underneath its branches to see for herself whether Jake was still alive.

  She’d pressed her hand to her mouth, trembling, her heart pounding, every nerve in her body alive with emotions.

  Overriding them all was her dread the Jake would be dead.

  That Ceana had beaten them back and finished him off.

  That or he’d bled to death. It was that horrible thought that had Heather grasping onto the mane of her mare with one hand, and Sarah’s hand tightly with her other as her gaze fastened on the tree and didn't move as Phillip, Maccay, and Hugh quickly dismounted and rushed toward that tree sheltering Jake.

  In a matter of moments, they had carried him out from beneath the overhanging branches of the towering pine.

  Phillip crouched down beside his brother and leaned close to his face, hand pressed against his chest. He turned to look over his shoulder toward Sarah and Heather, the expression on his face one of intense relief.

  “He's alive,” he said, gesturing for his wife.

  Sarah pulled her hand from Heather's grasp, told her to stay where she was, and hurried toward Jake's side.

  Heather disobeyed and quickly followed, collapsing to her knees on one side of Jake and reaching for his hand while Sarah assessed his injuries.

  “Jake,” Heather said, squeezing his hand between her own and lifting it toward her bosom. “Jake, you're going to be all right now. Sarah and Phillip are here.”

  Jake had not opened his eyes.

  Not then, and not until this moment.

  They had brought Jake back to the manor house, bound to the saddle in front of Phillip, his feet tied underneath the horse’s barrel while Phillip’s arms nestled his brother against his chest.

  It was a precarious way to transport the wounded man, but they had no other option. Unconscious, Jake couldn't sit atop a horse on his own, and Sarah had refused to even consider laying Jake face down over the back of a horse like a sack
of grain. The terrain was not conducive to a litter, so they had to do the best they could.

  At several points along the way, Sarah had moved her horse up alongside that of her husband and carefully assessed Jake's condition.

  The wound in his shoulder had opened up twice, bleeding anew, but after doing what she could to pack the wound with moss or clumps of grass and a piece of linen she tore from the bottom of her own kirtle, there was not much she could do for him until they got him back to the manor.

  After that, things had happened in a blur. Though Heather wanted to stay with Jake, Agnes, Millicent, and several others of the household had gently tugged her away.

  A hot bath awaited her in the kitchen, right in front of the fireplace. So, numb with cold, exhausted beyond reason, and her emotions taking a toll on her brain, Heather had allowed herself to be bathed.

  Agnes had tsked at the bruises forming all over her body. After the bath, warmed through and her cheeks flushed with heat from the fire, Heather had literally collapsed with exhaustion.

  She had woken in her own bed.

  Sarah pressed something warm around her injured knee. Her arm had been bandaged. As she regained consciousness and realized she lay in her own bed in the manor house, she looked up at the ceiling, incredibly grateful that she had been found. Never again would she take for granted the sense of protection and security that this place gave her.

  She tried to move, but Sarah placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

  “No, lie still,” her sister bade, her face filled with love and concern. “You just rest now. You've done your part. Now let us do ours.”

  “Jake?” Her voice trembled with worry.

  “He's holding his own, Heather,” Sarah said. “He’s not woken yet.”

  “How long did I sleep?”

  Sarah offered a wan smile. “I think it was more unconsciousness than sleep, but for a good long while. Your body and your spirit need rest.”

  “When did we get back?” She felt confused.

  “We brought Jake off of the mountain yesterday and got back here just before nightfall. You slept through the night, the morning, and most of the afternoon.” She glanced toward the window. “The sun will be setting soon. I have some broth here. You will drink it.”