Her Highland Protector (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Barbara Bard

  “William be hurt?” Greer asked, leaping down from him mount.

  Jared nodded. “Caught an arrow in his arm.”

  “How bad?”

  “Nae bad if he stop wriggling aroond.”

  “I nae be wriggling aroond,” William roared. “I be hurt, damn yer eyes.”

  If Greer weren’t so furious at Primshire’s cowardly escape, he would have laughed. As it was, he managed a chuckle as Gavin succeeded in pulling the arrow from the flesh of his upper arm. William howled.

  “Quit yer yelling,” Gavin snapped. “Ye soond like a damn babe.”

  Gesturing for Jared to follow him, Greer wandered back to the three unconscious Primshire men-at-arms. “What should we dae wi’ them?”

  “Leave them tae wake up and desert Primshire’s service,” Jared replied easily. “They gae back and he wi’ slaughter them for certain.”

  “I ken it. Should we take them wi’ us?”

  “Why? They nae good tae us as hostages and yer da will just hae tae feed them. Leave them, Greer. If they hae sense, they will head fer Ireland.”

  “We best be scooting fer the border ourselves,” Greer said, still gazing at the men. “We dinnae ken what that coward may dae once he gets home. He may get all his soldiers tae hunt us doon.”

  “Right, then. Let us be oof.”

  With William grunting and groaning, Greer, Jared and Gavin managed to get him into his saddle, and all four kicked their horses north. Though he had misgivings about leaving the three soldiers behind, Greer also admitted he had to put his own people first. He couldn’t risk Primshire returning with fifty soldiers while they waited for the men-at-arms to wake up, yet he worried he had left them to die at Primshire’s hands.

  “Maybe we should have woken them up and sent them on their way,” he said to Jared, fretting.

  “Why ye be worrying aboot them?” Jared asked. “They be Sassenach soldiers and the enemy.”

  “They also be helpless men if Primshire went back.”

  Jared shook his head. “Ye be trying tae play God, Greer. Ye cannae. Their lives are nae yer problem.”

  “Aye.” Greer sighed heavily. “I expect ye be right.”

  “They are good lads,” William interjected. “They were friendly with me. But had ye been a mite slower, laird, ye’d be dead now.”

  “All right,” Greer griped with a wry smile. “I be shuttin’ up about it.”

  Jared rolled his eyes. “Aboot damn time.”

  ***

  With the threat of Primshire’s soldier’s behind them, Greer set a fast pace back to the MacEilish castle, shouting out the known code phrase to the guards atop the walls as they approached in the darkest hours before dawn. Sleepy grooms emerged from the barns to take his horse, and he instructed them to care for the others as well. With Gavin and Jared helping William, Greer led the way inside the keep.

  “All the rooms be full,” Greer muttered, wondering where they could put William while they doctored his injury.

  “Let’s just take him into the hall,” Jared suggested. “We can light candles there and stich him up.”

  “Stitch?” William gasped. “As in – wi’ a needle?”

  “Ach, ye big coward,” Gavin snapped. “Ye be afraid o’ a needle?”

  “As a matter o’ fact, I dae be afraid o’ a needle. If I wish tae get hurt, I’d hae become a warrior. Blacksmiths dinnae get shot wi’ arrows.”

  Shaking his head, chuckling, Greer led the way through the dark castle to the big dining hall, the others dragging a protesting William with them. Lighting a candle, he soon lit others and brought them all to a table where Gavin and Jared sat William down on a bench and unwrapped his wound.

  “It wi’ heal withoot stitches, lads,” William said hastily as Jared went to locate a needle, catgut and whiskey to pour onto his gash to disinfect it. “We dinnae need all this.”

  “We dinnae and it wi’ fester, Gavin snapped. “It willnae hurt but a sting.”

  “Just a sting?”

  “Aye.”

  Greer tried not to choke on his laughter, his fingers covering the lower half of his face, but he still made a snorting noise. William eyed him suspiciously. Just as Jared returned with the items needed, Fiona burst through the doors in a fury.

  “What is this racket?” she demanded, striding into the hall, her auburn hair falling about her shoulders. She wore a cloak over her night dress, and soft kidskin boots on her feet. “I thought the Sassenach be invading wi’ all this yelling and howling. What gaes oan here?”

  “Uh, Maw,” Greer began, tentative, choking on his humor, “William here be afraid o’ needles.”

  Striding into the candlelight, Fiona gazed down, scowling, at the bloody wound in William’s arm, then at his terrified face. “Gie me that,” she snapped.

  Hastily, Jared handed her the whiskey, the needle and the catgut. “Find me fresh bandages. Greer, ye and Gavin hold him.”

  “Hold me?” William yelped.

  Jared ran off. Fiona descended on William as Greer and Gavin both gripped William’s shoulders. Fiona waggled the needle and catgut in front of William’s eyes, glaring. “One whimper from ye and I wi’ sew yer mouth shut.”

  Sweat dripped down from William’s face, he squeezed his eyes closed, then nodded. “Dae it.”

  Fiona upended the bottle over the wound dousing it thoroughly. William stiffened until Greer thought his bones would break, but he never made a sound. After exchanging a wry grin with Gavin, he watched his mother swiftly and neatly sew the gaping hole closed. William kept his eyes shut the entire time, sweat pouring from him in rivers.

  Jared returned with the bandages just as she finished. Fiona deftly wrapped William’s arm, then patted him on his hand. “There. Now was that as bad as ye feared?”

  William nodded. “Aye.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “Nae all can be warriors, I expect. Greer, there be a small room wi’ a cot and a blanket just around the corner. Bed him down in there fer the night, he cannae gae back tae the village fer a day or two. William, I want tae see ye by midday. Make me hunt ye doon and ye wi’ regret it.”

  “Aye, mum,” he whispered.

  “Now I will be going back tae my interrupted sleep.”

  Fiona stalked from the dining hall, leaving Gavin and Jared to stare at Greer. “Yer maw dae be fearsome when she be annoyed,” Jared murmured.

  “Aye. Come on, William, time tae get ye tae bed.”

  Finally able to seek his own rooms, Greer considered looking in on Myra. But as dawn peeped over the horizon, he decided to let her sleep, as she needed to rest. Bothering only to removed his sword belt and boots, he collapsed on his bed fully clothed. As he relaxed, his thoughts ranged to Myra and his feelings for her, knowing that he still could not willingly risk her getting hurt by pretending to be a warrior.

  “I wi’ protect ye, lass,” he muttered as sleep took him into its embrace.

  ***

  As determined as he was to not encourage her or teach her fighting skills, it appeared Myra’s stubbornness outweighed his own. As Greer watched from the bailey, gritting his teeth in anger, Myra fought a mock combat with Leith, Kerr looking on with approval. Her wound, no longer bandaged, still appeared red, swollen and angry, but if her head ached, she never spoke of it. The clack of wood against wood rang across the meadow to his ears, as the other female students of battle fought their instructors.

  “She be getting better,” Jared observed from Greer’s shoulder. “She be fit and fast, quick with that thing.”

  Even as they watched, Myra dodged a strike from Leith, her wooden blade cutting across his upper thigh. Had it been a real blade, Leith might well be crippled for life if not dead from blood loss. Greer could not find it within him to cheer her on. Instead of seeing her succeed, all he visualized was her crumpled form on the ground.

  “This be killin’ me, Jared,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I almost lost her tae this foolishness. I cannae risk losin’ her aga
in.”

  “If ye keep that attitude, lad,” Jared told him, his voice hard, “ye wi’ lose her, and not tae death. Ye keep acting like a possessive fool, and she wi’ run from ye. She nae a lass ye can order aboot nae more. She nae be a serf, ye done changed her intae a falcon.”

  “Aye. She ne’er be that again, wi’ she.”

  “Nay. Nae let her be free. She come back tae ye.”

  As much as he knew Jared was right, Greer could not cease to obsess about Myra and her fighting, and wished he had never agreed to this mad scheme. Other women such Idina learned almost as fast as Myra, and while bruises abounded, no one else was seriously injured. Over the next week, the training continued, no more murders were committed in Scotland, but the vigilance of the clansmen and the villagers never halted, either.

  Though Greer tried to dissuade her from fighting, and still taught her to ride a horse, he found a new tension rising between them. Myra ceased to laugh off his worries, and soon grew irate, her temper flaring whenever he broached the subject. One night after supper, he walked her back to her quarters, thinking he needed to spend more time with her outside of teaching her to ride, he considered they should take a day at the loch.

  “Would ye care tae ride tae the loch tomorrow?” he asked.

  Myra brightened immediately. “Ride all the way out there? Do you think I’m ready?”

  He chuckled. “Ye dae be getting’ better in the saddle, but that ole lass wi’ carry ye even if ye sit like a loose sack.”

  “Well, I do hope I ride better than a sack,” Myra replied.

  “Ye dae be getting better, Myra. But learnin’ tae ride takes time.”

  “Then a horseback ride to the loch would be an educational experience.” Myra grinned impudently up at him.

  “I hope sae, lass,” he said, tucking her under his arm as they strolled. “If ye put as much effort intae yer saddle as ye dae yer knife, ye would be proficient.”

  Instantly, he knew he said the very wrong thing. Under his arm, Myra stiffened. Wrenching away from him, her blue eyes snapped in outrage, her bosom cloaked in her black hair. “Effort?” she snapped. “I work just as hard in learning to ride as I do learning to fight, but you never let me advance off the bloody rope. All I do is walk in a circle while you bark orders at me.”

  Greer blinked. “What? Ye hae tae learn –”

  “I am learning, you idiot. If you would offer me a challenge once in a while, I might learn faster.”

  “I just dinnae want tae see ye hurt, Myra.”

  “That’s the problem, Greer. You’re smothering me with your overprotectiveness. I can take care of myself. After all, I’ve been doing it all my life, even before you came along.”

  Storming away, Myra stalked up the corridor to her chambers, entered them, and slammed the door without a backward look. Greer watched her depart, not quite knowing what sparked the quarrel, or what had made her so angry. Walking slowly to his own chambers, he shook his head, wondering if he would ever understand the female gender.

  The next morning, Myra refused to talk to him. As he usually did, Greer knocked on her chamber door to escort her to the hall to break their fast. Myra opened it, but rather than greet him, she drifted past him as though he weren’t there, Idina in tow, and strolled down the corridor toward the stairs.

  “Myra?”

  She neither turned, nor answered him. At the high table, she spoke contentedly with Fiona, but flatly ignored him, his attempts to speak with her, and adroitly avoided meeting his eyes. It was as though he weren’t there at all. Greer notice Fiona glance between them, her brow lifted, but she said not one word about it to either of them.

  Naturally, the day he planned to take her to the loch came and went without a spoken word between them. After hours of being snubbed, Greer stood in the bailey, watching her lesson with Gavin this time, wincing as one of his blows knocked her to the ground, and his relief seeped slowly back as she, laughing, let him help her up. Unwilling to admit it to himself, he grudgingly observed she had the natural speed and dexterity of a cat, and a sense of balance that few possessed. What made her stumble would have sent many men sprawling on their arses.

  Sweating, wiping her face with a towel, Myra walked off the meadow practice field with Idina after the lesson, laughing, her black hair caught by the wind. Though her eyes met Greer’s as she passed, she never acknowledged him. Despair lodged in his throat as he turned to watch her stride to the bailey and the keep beyond.

  Taking a step toward her, determined to catch her and make her talk to him, Greer suddenly felt a hand on his arm, effectively halting him. It was Kerr’s grip on him, Kerr with his eyes calm, yet fierce. “Let her go, lad,” he said. “Ye leave her be.”

  “But, Da, she won’t talk tae me.”

  “Nor dae I blame her.”

  Gaping, Greer blinked. “What?”

  “Ye been acting like an obsessive mongrel around her. Ye tell her what she can and cannae dae, ye hardly teach her anything on a horse, and then ye gripe at her. Nae I ken it nae be my place tae tell ye how tae be wi’ yer woman, but, lad, ye make me angrier than a bull wi’ a boil tae see ye treat her such.”

  With that, Kerr released his arm. He started to walk away, then turned back. “Let her find herself. She dae love ye, but ye’ve got tae let her gae.”

  Chapter 15

  Myra wept into her pillow. “What have I done?” she wailed.

  “The right thing.”

  Idina’s calm voice intruded upon Myra’s attempt to feel sorry for herself. She knew she was behaving like a spoiled child, having a crying fit over her guilt at snubbing Greer, and that she should behave better. Despite that lecture she gave herself, she missed him terribly now that she refused to talk to him, or have anything to do with him.

  Wiping her face, Myra sat up. “How can you be so sure? I miss him, Idina.”

  “I ken ye dae. But until ye stand up fer yerself, he wi’ continue tae harp at ye until ye gae mad. Stand yer ground wi’ him.”

  Despite her guilt and misery, Myra chuckled. “I’ve never been told to stand my ground before. Servants always did what they’re told.”

  “I be a servant and dae I dae what ye tell me tae?”

  Myra rolled her eyes. “All right, Sassenach servants do what they’re told.”

  “Much better. Greer wi’ learn that if he wants a servant, he can find one in England. But if he wants a woman, he best gie ye room tae be one.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Idina sighed. “It means, if he loves ye, he must let ye be yerself.”

  “That he should simply let me learn to ride and fight without all that boring, manly overprotectiveness.”

  Idina lifted her brow. “That be what I said.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re speaking in Greek.”

  “I be speaking simple Scots.”

  Myra grinned. “Do you think Fiona will take me out riding? I’d very much like to ride across the moors.”

  “Ye ne’er ken till ye ask.”

  As it turned out, Fiona was happy to take her out for a ride the next day. It dawned sunny and clear with a fresh, clean breeze sweeping off the hills. After their morning meal, Fiona ordered the grooms to saddle three horses, the black mare for Myra, a placid grey gelding for Idina and more fiery red gelding for herself.

  “I hae nae been out riding in ages,” Fiona confessed with a happy glint in her green eyes. “I be right glad ye asked, Myra.”

  After weeks of learning to mount and dismount, Myra swung into her saddle with ease, yet watched Fiona handle the dancing, snorting chestnut with an ability that seemed effortless. She envied Fiona her skills. “How do you do that?” she asked as the chestnut pranced while the black and grey merely plodded their way out of the bailey.

  “Years of riding, lass.” Fiona smiled at her. “Ye wi’ get there.”

  Myra glanced behind her at the six clansmen that accompanied them. “Even they ride as though they were born to the saddle.”
>
  “They were,” Idina replied with a grin. “Warriors usually are.”

  Relaxing, relishing the light wind in her hair, Myra felt content to just let the black mare amble at her own pace. Fiona had a few other ideas. “Gie her some leg, Myra,” she ordered. “Make her pick up her feet.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Squeeze yer legs.”

  Myra obeyed, pressing the calves of her legs against the mare’s ribs. Immediately, the black broke into a light, yet swift trot, and Myra almost crowed with delight. “Can we canter?” she asked.