The Highland Chief

by Dana D'Angelo

  Her breath caught in her windpipe.

  With one hand, he gripped his magnificent cock, stroking its thick length while he watched her with hooded eyes.

  “’Twas a mistake,” she said again, tearing her gaze away from his obvious male pleasure, and ignoring the intense flames that blazed through her system. She released a shaky breath. These unwelcome feelings made her feel unsettled and confused. As soon as she finished healing Eanruing MacGregon, she would go back to England, and forget about all the curious sensations that Rory roused in her. It was foolish to develop any attachment to this man. She tasted passion once, and it should be enough, shouldn’t it?

  Rory stood and stretched, his muscles rippling as he moved. He made a striking figure clothed in his great kilt, but standing naked, he was spectacular, breathtaking. He appeared unconscious or unconcerned about his male beauty, and the fact that he bore a raging cockstand.

  “If ye are keen,” he grinned. “I’m willing to make another mistake.”

  At his words, the heat in her cheeks burned even more. She found her kirtle and quickly dressed. When she turned back to him, she was relieved that he had donned his leine. Still, she didn’t feel safe staring at his lithe and powerful form, since underneath that shirt, she knew that he was stark naked.

  “We should leave,” she said awkwardly.

  He chuckled as if he could read her thoughts. Taking the plaid that was draped over his arm, he arranged it on the ground.

  She averted her face, but she still saw him in her peripheral vision. With practiced hands, he pleated the material before laying it on the ground and belted it around his narrow hips. As he stood up, he slung the excess fabric over one broad shoulder and secured it into place with a wide brooch.

  “Thank you for saving me from that knight,” she said, relieved that he was now fully dressed.

  “Ye wouldnae have required saving if ye had stayed asleep,” he said, attaching his sporran onto his belt and then looping his sword belt across his chest. “Next time ye may nae be as fortunate.”

  A tremor rolled over her. She knew that he spoke the truth. Before this incident, she was ready and willing to escape from him and his brothers. However she began to recognize that it was less perilous to remain with the Highlanders. If she had gotten to the cavalry, and the army turned out to be as dishonorable and uncaring as the drunken knight, then her fate would have been wretched indeed.

  “We should get to your father as soon as possible,” she said.

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. “So ye will hold true tae your promise, and willnae longer run off again?”

  “Aye,” she said. “I will heal your father, and once I am finished, you can escort me home.”

  “I can agree tae that,” he said. “Let’s go then. The English cavalry will be awake and active soon. I would loathe tae run into them, ye ken.”

  She nodded and surveyed the dense forest that encompassed her.

  “How will we find the others?” she asked.

  “We go this way,” Rory said.

  “But how do you know which route to take?” she asked. “I thought we were lost last night.”

  He stopped and crouched down to pick up a broken twig. “Ye made more noise than the Shellycoat and his rattling shells. And ye left an easy trail tae follow.” He tossed the stick into the bushes. “We’ll just need tae find your tracks again, and find our way back tae camp.” Her eyes widened as if he had just revealed the ancient secrets of the forest. He shrugged. “’Tis much easier tae see your tracks in the morning light.” He swept the area where they slept with his foot, tossing up the dirt and erasing all evidence of their stay. “Now nay one will ken that we were here. This way, lass.”

  Rory stepped forward, not bothering to look behind him, since he fully expected her to follow.

  The dawning light broke through the trees, and the forest was alive with the clamor of foraging animals.

  “How much further do we have to go?” she asked, panting while trying to keep up with him.

  He didn’t answer her. Obviously she didn’t realize how much ground that she covered when she raced away from their campsite. Danger lurked here, and they needed to get back to the site before they were discovered.

  They traveled for at least an hour before he slowed his pace. He sensed that they were close to the site, and was also aware of Darra’s tiredness.

  Soon enough the campsite came into view. At first, he felt relief at seeing the familiar tree that marked their spot, but in the next moment he was overcome with a niggling sense that something was wrong.

  Searching behind him, he observed that the area that they emerged from was still encased in darkness. Under normal circumstances, the noisy chatter of birds would be rampant at this time. But the forest was strangely silent.

  A breeze caught at his hair as he surveyed the empty space. If he didn’t know any better, he would never have believed that this area was used as a refuge. In fact the only sign of human habitation was the stone cooking surface that lay on the ground; there was no trace of the men or their horses. A sudden anger surged to his chest, although it wasn’t directed at anyone but himself. Had he inadvertently brought the enemy to his unsuspecting brothers? And if the bastards took them, were they now being beaten and tortured?

  Darra, not realizing that he had stopped, bumped into his back.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, grabbing onto his arm as she found her balance.

  “They’re gone,” he said, through clenched teeth. He reached behind him and withdrew his claymore.

  “Who —?” she started to ask, and stopped when she saw the sword in his hands. Her jaw dropped open. “Do you think the royal cavalry has come upon them?” she whispered. Her face had gone pale, as if she believed that she was to blame for his brothers’ disappearance.

  “I dinnae ken,” he said, unable to keep the vexation from his voice. “If the knights found my brothers, they’ll nae give them mercy. And if they’re nae killed on the spot, they’ll be taken tae the English court tae be hanged as traitors.” His tone turned bitter. “Anyone who opposes your King Harold is a traitor, ye ken.”

  Rory gave the area another sweeping glance, his shoulders rigid with tension. His father had to wait. His priority now was to find his brothers, and free them from the enemies.

  Bending down to the forest floor, he searched for clues. He would have to scour the site thoroughly in order to determine which direction to take. Fortunately he could trust Griogair to leave some sort of trail for him to follow.

  “Rory,” Darra said nervously. “I think I heard something.”

  He shook his head, not wanting the distraction. He had to concentrate. But then his head shot up when he heard a soft, whispery movement in the bushes. Tilting his head, he tried to listen for the sound again. And there it was. But this time the noise was followed immediately by the unmistakable nicker of a horse.

  Reaching over, he pulled Darra behind him, shielding her from whoever was approaching.

  Dropping into a fighting stance, he held his claymore in front of him, his gaze fixed intently at the spot where he heard the noise.

  Unexpectedly Duncan’s familiar form atop a horse emerged from the thicket. A second later, Griogair rode in with Rory’s horse in tow.

  Rory hissed and lowered his sword.

  “Where the hell were ye two?” he growled.

  Duncan urged his horse forward, eying the sword. “A better question would be: where the hell were ye? We woke up, and the two of ye were gone. I thought perhaps the English had taken ye.”

  “Aye,” Griogair said, joining in. “That was the thought that went through my mind as well. We went tae higher ground tae see if we could spot ye. And when we didnae see ye, we circled back here.”

  “We’re safe for now,” Rory said, sliding his claymore back into its sheath. He lifted Darra onto his horse’s back before mounting behind her. “Let’s be gone from this place.”

  Chapter 11


  “We’re home,” Rory said in relief. They had managed to cross the border unscathed.

  Off in the distance, he could see the outlines of his beloved mountains. He didn’t know how it was possible, but once they traversed into his bonny country, he felt an energy shift. The world seemed quieter, more arresting. He exhaled deeply, releasing the tension that plagued him from the moment he stepped foot on to English territory.

  Even though they were passing through the moorlands, he could detect the clean, fresh scent of mountain air, and the pungent fragrance of pine needles from a nearby forest. The autumn had transformed most of the wild grass into brown, red and gold threads. Meanwhile patches of purple heather grew among the vegetation, lending a breathtaking vividness to the craggy landscape.

  Darra sat in front of him. Ever since Rory rescued her from the English cavalry, she had been quiet. No doubt she realized that she was far safer with him than with her countrymen. She sat with her back as straight as a rod, as if she was afraid to touch him. The lass seemed all together different from the one who surrendered to him mere hours before.

  Suddenly she turned and spoke over her shoulder. “How much further do we need to go until we get to your home?”

  The sun was overhead, and they had already been riding for hours. But he didn’t dare stop even though he noted the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Likely about four more hours of riding,” he said. “However we’ll go at a slower rate, and will continue tae proceed with caution.”

  “But why?” she asked, her blue eyes bright with curiosity.

  “’Tis because we are nae yet out of danger,” Duncan said, exasperation in his voice. “We’re moving into the Lochclay territory. If we’re not careful, those bastards will swoop down like birds of prey and come after us.”

  “Lochclay?” she repeated, her brows furrowing. “Why those would be my mother’s kin…”

  Rory nodded. “The Lochclays have no love for us.”

  “And we have no love for them,” Griogair added, his tone a matter of fact.

  She regarded Griogair, her expression unreadable. And then she surveyed all around her as if to search for the hostile clans that they spoke about. “I thought ‘twas only the English that you opposed,” she said finally.

  “Nay,” Rory said. “We oppose the English, but we also have enemies within our own borders. As we have a common cause tae drive out the English, we’ve formed a precarious truce with the other clans.”

  “Clan Lochclay has fought along side us in the last war,” Griogair said. “But I wouldnae trust them.”

  “I wouldnae either,” Duncan nodded. “But as the English are set tae attack again, the queen will reunite the clans.” Stopping, he raised his hand to shield his eyes. “Look, I see the village up ahead.” He flashed a grin at Griogair. “I’ll race ye.”

  ***

  The brothers thundered ahead while Rory and Darra followed at a slower pace. They rode through a small village where stone houses clustered together. Off in the distance, Darra saw an enormous castle.

  A man and his son stopped in their task and waved to Rory. But when they noticed her, their scrutiny dropped abruptly to her gown and then flew back to her face. From the frown on their faces, it was obvious that they saw her as an unwanted foreigner. Though she pretended that she couldn’t sense their hostilities, she still felt the sting in her heart. She focused her attention on the looming castle, wishing that circumstances actually favored her, and that she was presently making her way out of Scotland. But of course, it was only a wish, and she was indebted to Rory.

  “Your clansmen do not like me,” she said, drawing in a shaky breath.

  “’Tis because ye are a sassenach,” Rory said dismissively. “But they’ll get used tae ye soon enough.”

  When they arrived at Tancraig Castle, Darra noted that two women and two youths waited for them. Their expressions were joyous when they saw Rory riding toward them. But like the townspeople, their demeanor became wary and unfriendly once they noticed Darra sitting in front of their brother. The dark-haired lass, who appeared to be the eldest, stepped forward first while her younger siblings followed suit.

  Rory dismounted from the horse. As he turned to help Darra down from the horse, he caught the uncertainty in her eyes. She sent him a tremulous smile, and immediately the sense of guilt reignited in his chest. But he pushed aside his remorse, and focused on the business at hand. He reached over and pulled the sack that hung from his horse. Digging in, he pulled out her medicine basket and handed it to her.

  “I’ll have one of my brothers take ye tae see Eanruing,” he said.

  She clutched the basket to her stomach as if it was a shield. The sun reflected off her flaxen hair, and he saw her blink, likely wishing that she was anywhere but here. He recognized the cold reception that his clan members gave to Darra, and he perceived that they didn’t want a sassenach in their midst. And neither did his siblings, even though they knew better. Rory blew out a rush of air and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He couldn’t very well reprimand his kin for the emotions they held in their hearts. After all, they had every right to hate the English. Those bastards had killed and maimed too many people they loved. Nay, the English deserved every last drop of hatred that they could muster. He was just unconvinced that this lass was the one who deserved the full brunt of their animosity.

  Cailean approached the horses, and started to take them to the stables.

  “Wait a minute, Cailean,” he said. His younger brother paused. “I want Lady Darra to meet everyone.”

  He placed his hand at the curve of her back. “Mairead, Cailean, Ewan, Kila,” he said, nodding to each one as he said their names, “are my younger siblings. Ye already ken Duncan and Griogair.”

  “Hello,” she said.

  His siblings were silent and watched her as if she spoke a foreign language.

  Darra paled and blinked, obviously affected by their rudeness.

  “That is nay way tae treat our guest,” Rory said, giving them a fierce frown.

  His reprimand pulled them out of their stupor. Mairead murmured her greeting first, her cheeks stained with embarrassment. The others followed suit, mumbling their half-hearted salutations.

  “Cailean,” he said. “Show Lady Darra tae Da’s bed chamber.”

  “Here, take this.” Cailean thrust the reins to Ewan, his youngest brother. Slanting his eyes at Darra, he said, “Follow me, milady.”

  As soon as Darra disappeared into the main tower, Rory glared at the rest of his siblings. “Ye should all be ashamed of yourselves,” he said.

  “Did ye ever think tae give us some warning first before ye bring a sassenach tae our home?” Mairead demanded, her fists clenched at her skirt.

  “Aye, ye may have nae noticed, Rory,” Kila added, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “But she’s English, and we dinnae like the English here.” She placed her hands to her slender hips. Kila had also inherited the MacGregon temper, and her expression mirrored that of her older sister’s.

  But Rory wasn’t in the mood to be crossed. “Lady Darra has come tae heal Da,” he said through clenched teeth. “While she is here ye will give her due respect.” His voice became dangerously soft. “Do ye hear me?”

  The reason for Darra’s presence at Tancraig Castle sunk in, and effectively deflated Mairead’s anger.

  “Aye, Rory,” Mairead said.

  Ewan nodded and averted his gaze, his expression contrite. But it was Kila who continued to show defiance. She glared at him, her lips pressed together as if she was trying her best to contain her words.

  Rory flicked his wrists, his patience wearing thin. “Go and see tae your chores.”

  One by one they did as he ordered. He was about to pivot, and seek out Duncan and Griogair when he noticed that Kila hadn’t moved from her spot.

  “Why are ye still here?” he growled at her. “Didnae I tell ye tae go?”

  “I saw how ye look at her,” she said, i
gnoring his questions. She straightened to her full height and glared at him. “She may be here tae heal Da, but just because ye like her disnae mean the rest of us will.” Having said her piece, she threw him a withering glance. Then tugging the surplus portion of her arisaid tighter around her proud shoulders, she stormed away.

  ***

  The familiar smell of illness hit Darra as soon as she entered the dimly lit bed chamber. She followed Cailean closer to the bed and studied the man lying there.

  Eanruing MacGregon’s eyes were closed although he wasn’t asleep. Every once in a while, a whimper of pain or distress erupted from his lips. A fire raged at the end of the chamber, and she couldn’t tell whether the sweat on his forehead was from the excessive heat, or whether it was from his illness.

  Cailean placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, shaking it gently. “Wake up, Da,” he said. “A new healer has come tae fix ye.”

  Eanruing’s eyes, wild with a lingering fever, popped opened and focused on Cailean. “A healer?” he asked, confusion in his voice. He let out a ragged breath, and his fevered awareness settled onto Darra. “Venora…?” he said.

  Hearing her mother’s name startled her, but she quickly recovered from her surprise. She glanced over at Cailean, but he had no reaction. “Venora is my mother’s name,” she said slowly. “I am Darra.”

  So many questions ran through her mind. She wanted to know why and how Eanruing was acquainted with her mother. She also wanted to ask why Clan Lochclay considered them their enemy. But Eanruing wasn’t lucid enough to answer any of her questions.

  The older man closed his eyes just as a sudden seizure came upon him. He thrashed in his bed, his head rolling from side to side. A cry escaped from deep within his chest, and he arched his back as if a creature dug sharp talons into his back.

  “I will need a basin of water and some linen,” she told Cailean calmly, and set her basket on the mattress.

  “Aye, I’ll be right back,” he said, and rushed out of the chamber.