My Hunted Highlander

by Badger, Nancy Lee

  “The man has been known to spin a tale or two, but he dinno’ lie. He has more than two men following him, and 'tis very likely he did yer crew harm.”

  “They aren't my men any longer, but I hope they survived. Don’t forget that dragon we saw flying overhead. Angus claimed it belonged to him.”

  “More witchery, I fear.”

  “What are we going to do? You said you aren't going to leave here, until you know where Angus is.”

  Niall wanted to tell her that he wouldn't leave without her, either, but it was too hard to utter those words, not unless she felt for him, what he was feeling for her. Unfortunately, once he found and captured his sire, he would return the evil bastard to their time. “We need some way to lure Angus into the open. Are ye certain he traveled alone with ye?”

  Blair nodded, and her stomach growled.

  Niall chuckled. “Let us beg some food from Wynda. She seems friendly, and I guess we be distantly related.” He clasped her hand in his, returning to Wynda’s cook house, where she stood at the open door of her cart. They climbed the steps and joined her inside.

  Blair settled on the edge of the small cot, where Keegan was quietly playing with a small ball. Niall helped Wynda heat some meat pies, bridies, and something she called French fried potatoes. Those she plopped into a mesh basket, then lowered into bubbling liquid. Smoke and heat sizzled upward, and she turned to gather bottles of clear water.

  After she passed around the bottles, she returned to the window, where several people had lined up. The smell of seasoned meat and baked pastries had obviously wafted out of the small building. Wynda kept busy serving food and collecting currency, while he stayed at the rear of the cart with Blair and Keegan.

  The sounds of them chewing, drinking, and enjoying their meal gave way to hushed conversation. “If we plan to stay here much longer, I will need to earn some coin,” Niall said.

  Wynda overheard him. “I'm afraid I have very little. I just deposited my receipts with the game’s treasurer, sorry. Of course, you can share my food, but if you need money, you should enter one of the competitions.”

  “What type of competition?” Blair asked.

  “Well, there are several athletic events happening this afternoon. Besides medals, many offer monetary prizes. Are you any good at any of these?” she said, pointing above the window.

  He was a very good hunter, warrior, and lover. Which one of his abilities could he use at these modern Highland games? Niall glanced from Wynda to the lettered parchment. It listed several events he recognized, such as the Caber Toss and Sheaf Toss. The Stone Put and Javelin Throw, he understood. Wrestling, Tug-o-war, and the Kilted Mile sounded too harsh, with all his bruises. Longbow?

  “Will those hunters be competing for money?”

  “You mean the archery contest? Let me check.” Wynda glanced closer at the sign on the wall and smiled. “Yes! There are several Longbow competitions, and the first one with a cash prize starts at one o'clock today. Better hurry.”

  He sighed. If they were to search for his sire, they needed a place to stay and coin with which to buy information.

  “Where do ye suggest we sleep this night? Also, Blair and the lad will need more clothing.”

  Wynda rested her chin on her palm, while she thought. “You said that Dorcas sent you here?”

  “Aye. The old witch is back in my time,” Niall said.

  “Do you think she'd mind if you used her tent? It's quite spacious, and she has lots of clothing. I recall a huge pile of gowns.”

  “Is her tent near?” Blair asked, folding her son into her side. They both looked cold and damp in their torn clothing.

  “It sure is. Let me close up for a few minutes. Follow me,” Wynda said.

  Blair jumped to her feet. “Thank you, Wynda. I am sure we can repay Dorcas later. And you. This food hit the spot.”

  The trio followed Wynda down the gravel lane, past a couple of bustling vendor tents, until they came to a closed tent. It sat in the shadow of the huge building Wynda referred to as a ski lodge.

  Niall cautiously preceded the small group inside. The air was thick with the scent of freshly ground herbs, and unlit oil lanterns. Stepping carefully through the shadows, he nudged a wooden table. Bottles clicked against one another.

  “Careful. The tables are full of potions and other odd paraphernalia. Dorcas is an odd old goat, but people flock to her tent for whatever it is she sells. It feels so strange that she isn’t here.” Concern laced Wynda’s statement.

  The hair on the back of Niall’s neck stood on end, and he swept his gaze into the recesses of the large tent. Powerful magic wavered all around him.

  “Her bed is back there,” Wynda said, pointing to a small area, hidden behind a curtain made of blankets, hanging on a rope. Wynda struck a flint of some kind and lit a candle. He followed her through the shadowy interior. The light revealed a small bed, covered with a heavy wool blanket, and several baskets filled with clothing. She placed the chunky candle on a small barrel beside a rocking chair, similar to the old chair in the main part of the tent.

  “One bed?”

  Niall started. Blair’s whispered comment startled him. He had forgotten she followed him into the tent’s darkened interior.

  Wynda glanced at Blair. “Like I mentioned earlier, let Keegan stay with me.”

  Niall leaned in, to hear her response. Would she allow the lad to stay with a stranger?

  “I don’t know…” Blair’s upper teeth latched onto her bottom lip. To Niall, the sight was precious, and arousing.

  “He fits in that tiny cot in my trailer, and I have a sleeping bag. There’s a sturdy lock on my door and, once I pull in the shutters, we will be snug as a bug in a rug.”

  Keegan hopped up and down. “Please? May I stay with her?”

  “What do you think, Niall? Keegan is, after all, your kin.”

  She was looking at him with such dismay that he paused, wondering what he could say to ease her mind. Wynda was very likeable. She knew about Dorcas, and had not fainted, when they spoke of traveling through time. He approved of the tiny fortress she called her food trailer.

  “Her cart ‘tis nearby, and stronger than these tent walls. The lad will be safe enough. First things first.” He motioned to the pile of clothing. “We can find ye new clothes, then we shall find out more about the longbow competition.”

  As they picked through the pile, Blair turned to Wynda. “Do you think we should wear disguises? If Niall is correct, and his father is still in the vicinity, it wouldn’t be too smart to let him catch us walking around.”

  Niall said, “If he is near, he will gravitate to the archers, so we should take care to no’ be recognized. He has an ego, and thinks of himself as the finest bowman in our clan. Of course, he has no’ competed against me in years. I be better.”

  “Are you bragging, or stating a fact?” Wynda asked, shoving a dark blue gown into Blair’s arms.

  When Blair tossed the lovely gown aside, he chuckled. When Wynda dug out a gown as green as the fertile meadows of his homeland, and threw it at Blair, Blair wiggled her left eyebrow, then hid behind a screen to dress.

  Keegan dug out a beige shirt, a pair of black trews, and dark brown hooded sweatshirt.

  “Keep the hood up, and listen to Lady Sinkler,” Niall said.

  “I’ll take good care of him. Good luck with the Longbow competition.” Wynda said, then she and Keegan slipped from the tent.

  Niall dug through another pile of wool plaid, and pulled out a long swath in a muted green pattern. This piece of wool was very different from the plaids he spied on the men, of this time. Blair joined him, and plucked a tag off the corner. “This is called the Sinclair ancient hunting tartan. Looks different from the plaid that your father wears, and it’s in better shape. The man was dressed in rags, remember?”

  “Aye, ‘tis unlike the plaid I lost to the sea. ‘Tis different enough, that it might trick my sire into dismissing me as simply a man from another c
lan.” It did not escape his notice that Blair referred to it as a hunting tartan.

  “I shall return shortly.” Grabbing a shirt, he headed into the main part of the tent. The closed tent flaps engulfed him in shadows, enhancing the odors of the old witch’s potions. Surrounded by packets of dried herbs, and powerful potions, was unsettling.

  He removed his dagger, unhooked his sporran and heavy leather belt, then laid the belt on the ground. Stripping off his tattered shirt, he then slipped on a dark green shirt with billowing sleeves, and tied the hide laces at the neck.

  Taking the long length of wool, he pleated it on the ground, then laid down upon it. Rolling into the pleats, he gathered the belt, and buckled it low around his waist. Jumping to his feet, he tossed the extra length up, and over a shoulder. He spotted a display of pennanular clasps inside a glass-topped box, sitting on a table in the corner. One circular pendant was of hammered silver, its pointed pin encrusted with what looked like tiny emeralds. “Like Blair’s eyes.”

  “What did you say?” Blair asked, suddenly beside him.

  As he took a breath to answer her query, her fragrance washed over him, bringing the scent of lavender and woman, into a room already awash with herbs and witchcraft. Her eyes sparkled, but he pulled his gaze away, and noticed she carried a slender twig. She slid it along the wood table, and a flame leapt to life.

  “Witchery!” Startled, he stepped back, and several baskets of potions tumbled to the ground.

  “Nope, just a match. Give me a minute, I’ll help pick those up,” Blair said. Reaching up above his head, she lit a hanging lantern with the magical twig.

  The flame’s soft glow grew, and her eyes danced with fire, accentuating her natural beauty. They stood alone, among magic. He yearned to touch her, stroke her, taste her, but he dare not.

  She was of this world. A world of magical fire sticks, odd wagons, strange dwellings, and water served in clear bottles.

  What could she ever want with a simple Highland warrior?

  CHAPTER 25

  When she lit the long match, Blair had startled Niall. She hid her smile. When she still captained The Black Thistle, she used to sneak up on her men all the time. It was an easy way to hear the scuttlebutt among her crew. Thinking about her men, who had driven her and Keegan away, her smile vanished. She prayed that neither the weird flying creature, nor the Sinclair mercenaries, had killed them.

  A life of piracy, thrust upon her shoulders at the death of her ruthless husband, was a choice she’d made in the heat of the aftermath of the battle. She’d done her best to keep the survivors alive. Their new village, hidden in the crater of a long-dead volcano, was prospering, but she understood Raven’s concern. If she was no longer one of them, he had every right to perceive her as a threat.

  “As if I would ever tell anyone about the cave, or the island.”

  “What was that ye said, love?” Niall was so close, she could smell his musky sweat that she had come to recognize as him, and him alone. With the flickering flame above them, his eyes glowed. In sunlight, they were exactly like Keegan’s eyes, but beneath the lantern’s glow, they sparkled with a brilliance that made her skin crawl. They reminded her of Angus Sinclair’s eyes, eyes that had glared at her, as he and his men had captured her, at the stream. Her throat closed, and her fingers turned to ice.

  Shocked at her body’s reaction, she stepped back, attempting to garner more space in their enclosed hideaway. Her hip jiggled a table, and another basket tumbled toward the ground.

  Niall caught it. “Take care, love. Doono’ tempt the fates again. ‘Tis no’ safe to dabble with a witch’s potions. I learned that lesson in Lana’s cottage…”

  His words faded, as if he’d said too much. He had mentioned Lana earlier, as had the older Sinclair.

  Hmmm. “Lana?”

  Had his cheeks darkened? He turned away, and set the basket back on Dorcas’ display table.

  “I’m familiar with many of these items,” she said, “and most look like healing herbs, and plants. I am sure witchcraft isn’t real, though Dorcas did seem a little strange.”

  “A little? Did ye forget how pirates walked right by us, as if we were invisible? She placed a spell on her tent.” Cupping her elbow, he pulled her close. With the lantern behind his head, his shadowed expression made her shiver.

  “Invisible? That’s not possible.” Then she thought back to when Angus Sinclair had surprised her, beside the stream. She had wanted to run back to the tent, but couldn’t see it. Keegan had appeared out of thin air, as well, right before he tried to save her.

  “The woman was daft for letting ye leave the safety of her tent. I tried to see ye once I left that glade, but the glade was empty.”

  “Okay. Dorcas Swann is probably a witch, but I think she’s a good witch, and I’m sure she won’t mind us staying here, tonight.”

  “Us?” His right eyebrow rose.

  “Keegan is safe with Wynda. If we are going to flush out your father, I want my son out of the way. This dress is clean and warm, and I found a lightweight cloak with a hood, that I left on Dorcas’ rocking chair. If I keep out of sight, while you do your thing, I can keep an eye out. Watch your back, so to speak.”

  She knew some of her words were strange to him, especially when he glanced behind him, brushing a hand over his chin’s stubble. The dark blond bristles gave him an unkempt pirate look, as did the shirt he wore. The sleeves were loose, and he seemed to realize this at the same time that she did. When he struggled to twine a rawhide tie around the cuff, she moved closer.

  “Let me help.” Blair tugged the tie from his grasp, and twisted it around his wrist, and again about four inches up his sleeve. “This will help when you shoot your arrows, right?”

  “Aye.”

  With that one word, her heart skipped a beat, and her entire body warmed. He was a handsome man, even with his scars and bruises, and he smelled yummy. She finished one sleeve, then worked on the other. His fingers strayed close to her breasts, but she remained focused on her task. When she was done, he grabbed another strip of leather from God-knows where, and tied his hair at the nape of his neck.

  “Won’t that make you easier to spot?”

  “When the time is right, I want my sire to recognize me. ‘Til then, I will wear a sash around me head. I saw several in those baskets, out back. Too bad I lost me eye patch.”

  “Here’s one,” Blair said, pointing to an overflowing basket. Dorcas had everything in her little shop. So, why was she back in ancient Scotland and not here, selling her wares?

  Blair kept quiet as he slipped the brown leather eye patch into place, over the undamaged eye, covering most of the jagged scar across his cheek.

  Niall rifled through the baskets, and pulled out a long piece of what looked like black silk. He tied it around his head, covering most of his sandy hair. When he lowered his arms and faced her, she sucked in a breath. He was stunning…and a little scary.

  “You might just frighten your father away.”

  “Pray he doono’ stray. I need to capture him, and get him home. I know, now, that my place is with my people, and with Gavin. He must sorely miss me, if what my sire says is true.” His gaze drifted to the ground.

  Blair’s chest suddenly hurt. She planned to stay here, but he planned to leave. There was nothing she could do about it. There was nothing for her, back in Scotland. Nothing but him.

  Isn’t that a kick in the heart?

  Swallowing, she wiped a stray tear from her cheek. Calmer, turning to Niall, she said, “Wynda said you should arrive fifteen minutes ahead of time, in order to sign-in.” A sudden weariness made her glance toward the small cot.

  “Ye look tired, lass. Rest yerself while I look around. If we must sleep here this night, I will need a weapon, besides this small dagger and this unusual longbow, to keep us safe, should our ruse prove unsuccessful.”

  Blair nodded, praying whatever he planned to do at the longbow competition resulted in Angus Sinclair’s captu
re. The older Sinclair had oozed evil, wanting to kill Keegan, and her. She would not let any harm come to the boy. Although not of her blood, he was hers, and she would raise him right.

  Niall strode into the little sleeping area carrying a leather and fur covered quiver, filled with feather-tufted arrows.

  “Where in the world did you find those?”

  “Setting on that table ye knocked yer hip into.”

  “What? That table only had a couple of baskets of potions and herbs!”

  Niall shrugged his wide shoulders. “This place is filled with witchery.”

  As his fingers slid down the glossy curve of the bow he’d claimed to have borrowed from the historical village, she shivered. She remembered how he’d touched her intimately with those fingers.

  Niall settled the quiver beside her, on the cot. She watched him place the bow between his calf and ankle. He pressed down, bowing it out, then loosened the length of the string that was set in a notch.

  “This is an odd weapon, but I approve.”

  She smiled. What would he think of the intricate compound bows that modern hunters used? As he reattached the loop, and restrung the longbow, she pulled an arrow from the quiver, then stroked the tip.

  “Careful, lass,” he whispered.

  Blood bubbled up from her fingertip. “Wow! These are sharp!”

  Before she could find a tissue, or a cloth to stop the oozing blood, he clasped her hand in his, drawing her bleeding finger into his mouth. His tongue made quick work of her bleeding digit, and she tingled all the way to her toes.

  She sighed, and he smiled.

  “Listen, you can’t go around tasting women’s fingers.”

  He slid her finger from between his lips, and pressed a kiss on the tip. “My pardon, lass. Shall we move on?”

  “To what?” She jumped to her feet, as images of his tongue, sliding deep into more sensitive parts of her, made her tingle all over. Her eyes flicked to the little cot.