Highlander's Sweet Promises

by Tarah Scott

  The floorboards barely made a sound when Valeria slipped into the house. Taran busied himself checking the food in his saddlebags while she watched from a few feet away. He could sense her eyes boring into his back. When he faced her, turmoil simmered in the intensity of her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” She sighed, those obsidian eyes making his insides twist in knots. “’Tis not that Pia is a slave that has me incensed. ’Tis just she watches my every move, telling me what is proper and what is not. Seeing her wander off with Seumas strikes a nerve.”

  At last, a breakthrough. He stepped toward her. “And how do ye feel when ye’re in the clover with the likes of me?”

  “That is completely different.”

  “Is it?” Taran cupped her lovely face in his hands. “Are they not flesh-and-blood souls like us?”

  Before she had a chance to respond, he pressed his lips to hers.

  Greum cleared his throat from across the room.

  Valeria quickly pulled away. “Taran, I need to check your wound, and Stag’s as well.”

  He swallowed and sat on the lone chair. He liked it when she spoke his name, her Roman accent rolled the r slightly, like nothing he’d ever heard before. Of course the Roman soldiers had never bothered to learn his name, which was probably a good thing. If they ever figured out who he was, he could have been used as leverage to pillage Pict lands.

  Valeria eyed the boy entering the roundhouse. “Manas, can you make a lamp of wolf fat? I cannot see a thing.”

  Greum patted the boy on the shoulder. “I have some cedar bark for a wick and a big clam shell I keep at the ready just for the purpose.”

  Within minutes, the lamp burned bright enough for Valeria to examine Taran’s arm. He held it out while she removed the bandage. Heat spread between his hips and he sucked in a deep breath when she leaned forward to sniff it. Her head hovered just above his midsection. Taran’s breathing became shallow. Atar help him, he wanted her.

  “Good, no infection has set in. How does it feel?” She met his gaze, inches from his nose.

  His tongue shot out and tapped his top lip. All he needed to do was pull her a wee bit closer and he could steal another kiss. “Like I said yesterday, ’tis but a scratch,”

  Valeria blinked, completely unaware of her power over him. “Do you have more mead in the bladder?”

  “Aye, but why should we be wasting potent mead on me arm?”

  “I’ll use but a few drops. We need the cleansing properties of the spirit.”

  Taran complied and gritted his teeth against the stinging pain while Valeria wasted the precious liquid.

  “Such a pity,” Greum sighed.

  “Hush,” she chided. “Would you have his highness struck down because of a simple dog bite?”

  Greum shrugged. “Well, if ye put it that way.”

  While Valeria tended to Stag, Manas sidled up to Greum. “Can I look at yer sword?”

  Greum slid the long blade out of its scabbard, but hesitated before he handed the weapon to the boy. “Be careful, I keep it sharp. One slip and the blade could slice clean through yer arm or worse.”

  Manas held up the weapon with awe in his eyes. “Ye think I can have one?”

  “Ye’re a darned mite too young to be wielding a blade. When a man picks up a sword, he must be prepared to stand against another in a fight to the death.”

  “I’m not afeard to die.”

  “Aye, but let’s not rush things.” Greum patted him on the shoulder. “Tell you what. I’ll train ye, and when ye’re of age, I’ll have the blacksmith forge a fine Pict sword that tells the tale of your bravery when you fought Runan and saved her ladyship.”

  Manas’s face looked like a set of teeth with two enormous eyes shaded by a mop of brown hair.

  Valeria squeezed the boy around his shoulders. “’Twas very nice of Master Greum. What do you say?”

  “Thank ye. I’ll groom yer horse for the rest of me life if ye want me to.”

  Greum looped his arm around Manas’ neck and rubbed his knuckles into his skull. “Now there’s a fair trade. Ye can start in the morning by picking his hooves.”

  Pia and Seamus not only brought back wood, but they found a nice cache of mushrooms, and the group dined on them and the remains of the wolf meat. The roundhouse felt cozy with the fire warming the room. With full bellies, they all reclined on their saddles and horse blankets on the hardwood floor.

  “Greum, did you bring your lyre?” Valeria asked.

  “Nay, ’twas not practical.”

  “Would you sing us a song anyway?”

  “Only if ye’ll join me.” Greum’s eyes darted to Taran for approval.

  Taran lowered his gaze to her lovely face. “Ye think ye can sing with the likes of him?”

  Greum started to sing the ballad that Valeria had performed on her first night in Dunpelder. Taran closed his eyes and let the music sooth him. Their voices complemented each other, and Greum added harmony on the second verse. Valeria sang out stronger to carry the melody, their voices pure as bells. The skin on Taran’s back tingled.

  When the song ended, quiet filled the tiny house. Taran could hear only the sound of the crackling fire. He grinned. This night contrasted with the previous eve in the cave with wind howling and rain pummeling the rocks.

  He glanced at the others, who’d mostly succumbed to sleep. Even Valeria reclined on her saddle with her cloak pulled up over her shoulders, Stag curled at her feet. She lay on her side. The form beneath seemed so petite, almost childlike, except for the way her shoulders dipped to her tiny waist, curving to the unmistakable mound of her hips. His hand reached out to touch her seductive curve, but stopped at the sound of a woman’s throat clearing. Evidently, Pia slept with one eye open.

  Taran pulled his hand away, choking back the insatiable burning in his belly. He wanted to be no other place but resting beside her. However, spending nights with Valeria within his grasp drove him to the brink of insanity. The turmoil of emotions churning beneath the surface of his mind as each day passed mounted the tension in him like a coiled snake. He wanted release from the agony, but couldn’t bear to think of losing her. Weariness pounded his skull as he fought his internal battle without resolve.

  ***

  Taran had no idea how long he’d been asleep when Stag’s low growl roused him. Holding his breath, he listened. The horses stirred and Stag growled louder, baring his teeth. Taran held out his hand to silence the dog and drew his sword from its scabbard. Standing, he nudged Greum and Fionn. Seumas had already armed himself.

  Valeria stirred and Taran stooped beside her, pressing his fingers over her mouth. “Sh. Stay here with Pia and Manas,” he whispered. “Ye understand?”

  She nodded, her eyes determined yet fearful.

  A horse whinnied. Taran gestured at the men in silent communication, his hand on the door latch. “Ye ready?”

  Taran threw it open and lunged into the misty dawn. The four Pict warriors filed out, standing shoulder to shoulder, their swords and shields at the ready. There had been no time to don their armor.

  “Throw down now and we’ll not kill ye,” Taran growled.

  A dirty Roman soldier stepped out of the mist, sword in hand, his uniform torn and his breastplate tarnished. “Now why would we want to do that?”

  By the look of his scraggly beard, Taran figured him for a deserter, a filthy, hungry scrapper. He tightened his grip on his hilt. “I meant what I said. Ye throw down now, and we’ll spare ye, else me blade won’t stop until it’s run ye through.”

  The man’s low chuckle indicated his willingness to take the risk. His eyes shot to the door. “Four men with seven horses? Why do you need so many? Let us have five and we’ll leave you two.”

  “Not likely.” Through the mist, Taran counted four other shadowy soldiers who filed in behind the first, all in shabby states of Roman dress. “Lost yer legion, have ye?”

  “Something like that.” The men crept forward.

  Unwilling t
o wait for them to make the first move, Taran charged forward. A battle cry erupted from the depths of his bowels. He first targeted their leader. Their swords met with a reverberating clash that ricocheted through his shoulder. His opponent, though shorter, proved his Roman training had not been forgotten.

  The soldier’s rapid slashes with the deadly Roman short sword made it impossible for Taran to keep an eye on the others as he defended himself. With brute strength, he backhanded the scrapper with his shield. The soldier stumbled away, but the cur managed to hang on to his weapon. Taking advantage of his opponent’s receding motion, Taran lunged and slammed his sword down. The legionary countered in time to defend the blow. Taran’s sword scraped across his assailant’s blade while Taran bludgeoned him with another whack of his shield.

  A scream shrieked from inside the roundhouse. That shrill voice could belong to none other than Valeria. Taran’s concentration waned for a fraction of a second, met with a sharp laceration across his midsection. Sucking in a deep breath, incensed by the pain, he unleashed his rage. Taran advanced, bearing down on the smaller man. He leveraged his strength and height advantage and brandished his broadsword, wildly driving his opponent into submission. The sword flew out of the soldier’s hand. With a deathly roar, Taran spun. One swift lateral swing and he sliced through his neck. The legionary’s severed head popped from the plumed Roman helmet and tumbled across the ground, mouth agape, eyes vacant.

  Taran whipped around, his gaze darting across the scene. Seumas and Greum were well matched, but Fionn struggled against his opponent’s superior skill. Taran leaped across to the younger man and drove his blade into the heart of Fionn’s challenger.

  Fionn’s stunned face eased with recognition when his eyes met Taran’s.

  “Valeria!” Taran barreled into the hovel, teeth bared.

  The fifth soldier had trapped her in an arm lock, his sword angled toward her neck. Manas crouched across from them, knife in his hand. Pia held her belt behind him.

  “Release her,” Taran growled.

  Beside him, Fionn armed his slingshot.

  The soldier spat and nervously sneered. “Let her go and stand here while you bloody savages run me through and eat my heart?”

  A low chuckle ground Taran’s vocal cords. “The bloody bastard cannot tell a Pict from an Attacotti.” He stepped closer. “No wonder Roman soldiers have their heads up their arse. Tell you what, release her and I’ll fight ye fair.”

  The Roman strengthened his grip on Valeria. Her breath stuttered. The soldier inched toward the door. “Stand back. This wench is coming with me. What are you doing with a Roman woman, anyway?”

  “Remove your filthy hands from my person,” Valeria snapped.

  Her words were met with the tip of his sword pricking her neck. Blood trickled down and spilled on her dress.

  Taran rushed forward.

  The Roman shuffled away. “Stand back or she’ll be dead before I reach the door.”

  Taran lowered his sword. His eyes darted to Manas, who crept in the shadows, knife in hand. Taran shook his head at the boy. They couldn’t risk another slip.

  The desperate soldier dragged Valeria through the door. “Stay back!”

  Greum and Seumas met him outside, ready to fight. With a look, Taran signaled them to back away. The soldier glanced at his fallen comrades and made his way to Blackie. Taran’s gut clenched. The big stallion needed a rider with a firm hand, lest he be thrown.

  In one swift move, the soldier tossed Valeria across the horse like a bag of grain. He untied Blackie’s halter from the hitch and lithely leaped onto his back. The horse reared, but the soldier stayed on, digging his heels into Blackie’s ribs.

  Taran turned to Fionn. “Now!”

  He held his breath while the lad whipped the slingshot over his head, eying his target. The stone released, slamming into the soldier’s helmet with enough force to knock him off the horse.

  Blackie sped into the forest with Valeria draped across his back.

  “Finish him!” Taran yelled as he raced to the mare, galloping after Valeria and his wayward stallion.

  ***

  Sprawled over the frightened steed, Valeria bounced wildly. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the rope swinging from Blackie’s halter. Swallowing her fear, she cooed to him in the gentlest voice she could manage, given the jarring beating against her abdomen. “Easy, boy,” she repeated, fully aware that, at any moment, the horse could buck and she would fly off his back.

  Her hand reached out for the rope, but it was just beyond her grasp. She stretched back and wound the fingers of her left hand through the base of Blackie’s mane. Holding tight, she made another grab for the rope. It brushed the tips of her fingers, but swung away.

  A branch caught her in the side of the head and whipped her sideways along the horse’s spine. Her fingers still entwined in his mane, she held on. Pulling herself forward, Valeria turned her body to lay the length of the horse. When she used her knees to inch forward, she thanked God Taran had ripped the slit in her tunic. Both hands now clutched Blackie’s mane.

  She slid her legs down, straddled the horse and sat, then threw her arms around Blackie’s neck. “Easy, boy. Easy now.” She clamped her arms firmly, terrified to move from the security of her grasp, but the horse showed no sign of fatigue. His hooves pounded the forest floor. Valeria closed her eyes and sucked in a few calming breaths, willing herself to make the next move.

  She released her grip, threw her right hand up and latched onto Blackie’s halter. Her body listed to the right and she dug in with her knees to stay on. Her left hand flew up and snagged the other side of the halter. With all her strength, she pulled down on the noseband and forced the stallion to lower his head. “Easy, boy.”

  Blackie’s frenetic gallop slowed to a canter and she let him calm for a few paces until she pulled down on the noseband again. “Easy, boy.”

  Blackie slowed to a jarring trot, rattling her teeth. “That’s right, easy. Good boy.”

  She continued this patient motion until Blackie eventually dropped his head and stopped, sniffing the grass in an open glade. Valeria rested her head on the horse’s mane and closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

  “Valeria!” Taran’s horse skidded to a halt beside her. He jumped off and took control of the lead. “Where are ye hurt?”

  Hurt? She opened her eyes. Seeing Taran’s bloodstained tunic, she bolted upright. “You’re hurt. Oh my heavens, look at you.”

  He reached up to help her dismount. “’Tis just a flesh wound.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders and slid down the length of him while he gently lowered her to the ground. Her heart fluttered and she drew in a calming breath. “That’s what you said about the wolf bite.” She touched his tunic. “May I take a look?”

  “Aye, m’lady. I wouldn’t want any finer hands to tend me wounds.” He shrugged out of his tunic and pushed it down to his hips.

  Valeria’s stomach churned when she examined the blood stains that ran from his midriff and soaked into his clothing. She made a hissing sound through her teeth, touching her fingers just above the wound. She inadvertently brushed the line of auburn hair trailing from his navel and down under the linen. Valeria hadn’t expected to be blasted with the image of his naked body beside the pool, aware of what hid beneath the folds of the wool. She inhaled a ragged breath as heat shot through her breasts and made them heavy with yearning.

  “It doesn’t hurt much.” He reached down and pulled her up to face him. “But feeling yer breath upon me skin awakens the savage beast within.”

  She stared into those crystal pools of blue, trembling. He felt it too? She swallowed, needing to find her voice. “’Tis none too deep, but you w-will need stitches.” She nearly delivered the words without stammering.

  Valeria’s gaze drifted to his lips. Taran’s tongue flicked out as he lowered his mouth to hers, and her heart raced faster than the cadence of Blackie’s gallop. She wanted to
throw her arms around him and pull him against her, but she couldn’t disturb the wound. She settled for placing her hands on either side of his face, feeling the prickle of unshaven stubble beneath her fingertips.

  Taran grasped her shoulders and drew her into his body. “Put yer hands around me.”

  “I do not...”

  He pulled away, hurt in his eyes. “What?”

  “I do not want to further injure your wound.”

  A sultry chuckle played across the white teeth of his grin. “Ye cannot hurt me.”

  Valeria slid her hands down to his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his smooth skin. His grin turned into a lustful smile as he gazed into her eyes. “Are ye injured, lass?”

  “Nothing a hot bath would not cure.”

  “I’m afraid we’re fresh out of Morag’s copper pots.”

  She lowered her eyes, breaking the intense connection between them. “’Tis all right.” She placed a hand on her chest to calm her breathing and stepped back.

  Taran closed the gap. Studying her face, he brushed her cheek with his forefinger. “Is something amiss?”

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him and declare her love. She longed to beg him to take her back to Dunpelder, to hold her in his arms and never let go, but she bit her lip and shook her head.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Then why are you backing away from me?” Taran asked.

  The pain in Valeria’s eyes shocked him. She must be injured. He reached out and grasped her hand. “Did he hurt ye…ah…inappropriately?”

  Valeria blinked. “What? No. I’m untouched.”

  “Something’s ailing ye. I can read it all over yer face.”

  Valeria blinked again, several times.

  “Tell me,” Taran insisted.

  Her eyebrows knit. “Are you not hurting too?”

  Taran looked down at his midriff. “Well, like I said, ’tis a flesh wound.”

  Valeria folded her arms. “I meant your heart, Taran.” She turned her back to him and pressed her face into her palms. Her shoulders shook.