Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate

by Lydia Kendall

  The logic of Hector’s words battled with her impulsive reaction and slowly, undermined and overtook her hasty decision to go back to Monstall Manor. Sagging a little, Victoria knew if she did go back, she wouldn’t see the light of day until she was wed to Mr. Keating. And that was death in itself.

  “How much longer until we get to your country?” Victoria asked quietly.

  The Laird shifted and reached under her chin, propping her bowed head up with his knuckles. “Five or six days, four if we hurry through Durham, Cumberland, an' get tae Dumfries.”

  Pressing her lips in a tight smile, Victoria nodded, “Do we have enough food to stay us for that time?”

  Donald spoke then. “If nae, we can get what we need from tha forest. Meat is plentiful an’ so are fruits an' fresh water. I assure ye lass, we can survive.”

  Her blue eyes held a measure of uncertainty, but Victoria had no other choice but to trust Hector and Donald. She shot an uninterested eye to the food Donald had brought, fresh bread and warm roasted meat, but couldn’t find it in herself to eat.

  “Oh no, ye wouldnae dare,” Hector said strictly, taking up the parcel and handing it to her. “Ye will eat nae matter how there’s nae feel tae. Ye need food in ye, Victoria.”

  Plucking the packet from his hand, Victoria dutifully ate through the bread and meat even though her mind was still far off from the fare. Satisfied that she had enough, Victoria closed the paper over the scant remains and felt the uncomfortable grime of sweat on her person.

  “Hector…” Victoria hedged before looking at him, “Didn’t you say there was a spring or river near here?”

  A slightly scruffy cheek turned to her. “Aye, there is, nae tae far from here…I bet yer wantin’ tae bathe, eh?”

  Silently, Victoria nodded, somewhat glad that she didn’t have to speak the words.

  “Well,” Hector paused while looking out one of the stable’s windows, “It’s dark enough oot an’ I can take ye there.”

  Feeling enticed with the anticipation of clean, cold running water cosseting her skin, and wiping the days’ worth of grime away, Victoria got up and grabbed the parcel with the second set of clothes Mark had given her. Anxiously, she waited for Hector, who was looking through the door, to give the all-clear.

  “We’re guid noo,” Hector declared. “Donald, be on tha lookout all tha same.”

  “Aye,” Donald replied.

  Taking Victoria’s warm hand, they crossed the scrubby backyard and entered the overgrown field behind it. Soon enough, they entered the woods, where even from such a distance, Victoria could hear the babble of water. Her hand was held firm in a secure grip as Hector led them through the woodland with an almost supernatural sense of direction. They descended a small slope, and there was the spring.

  The moonlight showed the silvery water slithering over flat rocks and hemmed in on both sides by tall blades of grass that shifted with a ghostlike grace by the invisible wind.

  “I’ll wait here,” Hector replied, while standing on the bank. “I’ll turn me back while yer in tha water. Dinnae be afraid, nothin’ can harm ye while I’m here.”

  Taking his words and actions as assurance, Victoria removed her clothes and waded gently into the stream. The water was warm - something she had never expected but was grateful for. Cold air contrasted the warm water and made her skin pebble naturally, but looking at the man resolutely facing the other way, made her stomach tighten and startling desire go through her.

  Even in the dark, Hector was still awe-inspiring. His broad shoulders looked like they could hold the weight of the world. The strong back, and powerful arms and legs dominated her vision. While she bathed and her eyes were turned away, his magnificent body continued to dominate her mind.

  Skimming her hand over her stomach, she remembered the fire that had scorched her body when Hector’s hand had rested on the small of her back. The touch of his lips was another source of heat and Victoria had to breathe through her nose to stop an aroused pant that nearly left her lips.

  “Are ye almost done, lass?” Hector called.

  Darting a look to the man who was still facing the other way, Victoria swallowed and nodded before she realized he could not see her.

  “Y–yes,” she said, “I am.”

  Wading out of the knee-high water, Victoria patted herself dry, feeling refreshed and happy at the cleanness of her skin, but bothered and heated with strains of lust going through her chest. Donning her underclothes, then the clean pair of pants, and another loose shirt, Victoria bundled the dirty clothes and the wet rag into a ball and grasped his hand, “I’m ready.”

  Nodding, Hector took them back the way they came, silently, but Victoria realized that there was something more to his grip - it was a bit tighter than before. She did glance at Hector’s face but aside from the stiffer line to his jaw, she didn’t see much difference. After a moment of deliberation, she decided it was his heightened concern as they were out in the open.

  They got to the barn but instead of them both going in, Hector, standing at the doorway, softly ushered Victoria inside. “I’ve got tae do some more checks around. I’ll be back shortly.”

  The soft furrow in Victoria’s brow told of her confusion, but she nodded and went inside. Donald, too, was looking with curiosity to the Laird, but Hector was gone before his astute mind could come to a decision.

  After putting her dirty clothes in her bag, Victoria took the closed parcel of food and opened it. It was either the cold water or the heat of her memories of Hector, she wasn’t sure which, that had reignited her hunger. Soon, she felt full.

  Sitting there, Victoria reflected on Hector, who and what she had found him out to be. Listening to him speak, Victoria had gotten a strong understanding of how solid his camaraderie with Donald was, the level of mentorship he had gotten from his father, the love and protectiveness Hector had for his mother, Coira, and the solid loyalty he had for his Clan. Wrapped in his arms, she had put the puzzle pieces of Hector together, and the picture she got for her effort was a delightful one; one she knew she was falling in love with.

  The man was brave, protective, impulsive and rash, yes, with a temper that rivaled a Norse God, but at the same time Hector had an uncanny sensibility about him. He cared - God knew he cared - and every time she looked at him, a warm sensation ran through her chest.

  With an apprehensive look to the door, Victoria wondered what could be keeping Hector for so long. She was about to get up and go search for him when Donald spoke up from his shadowed corner.

  “I wouldnae do tha' if I were ye, lass,” Donald’s words were quiet but laden with meaning, one that Victoria was mystified even to try and decipher. “If he told ye tae stay, he wouldnae be happy if ye disobey him.”

  Victoria still felt pressed to see him, but Donald’s words made sense. She didn’t want to get on Hector’s bad side as they were this close to their target. Glumly, she sat back and decided to wait.

  But what on earth could be bothering him? Victoria thought anxiously, as her eyes kept flitting to the door.

  Chapter 22

  “Sweet Mary, Mother o’ God,” Hector swore to the dark air, as he slumped against the rough wall of the barn on the far side. “Forgive me o’ me sins.”

  His noble intention of taking Victoria to bathe had been a good one at the time, and he had even done the gentleman thing of turning away while she bathed, until something had possessed his mind and he had shot a look over his shoulder.

  The vision there was one he would never forget and did not want to forget. Victoria naked under the moonlight was like a spirit from heaven. Her golden hair was bound up to keep from getting wet, and her pale skin shimmered under the silver rays and the slickness of the water. The generous mounds of her plump breasts peaked with dark nipples, resting above the slender slope of her stomach down to her mound, were stationed in his mind just as the curve of her bottom was.

  Arousal had shot through Hector’s system like a strike of blue lightni
ng in a Highland storm – as quick and as scorching, with heat like the bolt. He had jerked his head back so quickly that it was a miracle he hadn’t snapped his own neck.

  Standing there, on the bank of the stream, Hector’s breaths were short and shallow as the urge to turn around, grab her and make her his had battered his mind, almost shattering every bit of his composure.

  Now, in the dark of the night, so close but so far from her, he felt the deep-seated burn to have the woman swamp him until he felt he was being drowned. He ached to have her, not just her body, but her whole being.

  The past nights, when she had rested in his arms, Hector had been given a pathway to Victoria’s mind with every word she spoke of her childhood, how she had grown strong in solitude, and how she had grown into womanhood with only Ruth as her role-model.

  Hector loved how attentively she listened to the tales of his youthful days. He knew that his lust for her was merging with his admiration and both emotions were steadily changing into love. At first, he had doubted it, but every time he thought of leaving her behind or - God forbid - anything happening to her, a slice of agony almost cut his chest in two. It was an unbearable thought.

  Breathing in the cool air, Hector remembered when she had told him about the man her father was going to marry her off to, a Mr. Keating. Her words and tone describing the man had painted Hector a picture of a person filled with obnoxious pride and a self-satisfied superiority.

  There was no way he would allow Victoria to go back to her home and be trapped in the cage made by her father and that man - confinement that would surely kill her. Just thinking of it made a rage descend on him so strong, that he felt he would move Heaven and Earth to keep her safe from louts like Keating.

  A pitiful howl of some abject creature cut through the air and Hector realized from the moon’s position that it was getting late. With his emotions in check, Hector went back into the barn and spotted Donald - awake and aware - as he watched over a sleeping Victoria.

  Nodding his thanks to the other man, Hector took his place beside Victoria and gently moved a strand of her hair from her cheek and looked with new eyes at the lady he loved. Curled on her side, she was so peaceful. If it killed him, he needed her to stay that way.

  “We’re goin' tae hae tae be careful from noo on,” Donald said quietly. “From what I heard in tha village today, tha Crown even sent men tae guard tha borders.”

  “Then we might hae tae try tha lesser-known paths,” Hector added, while not moving his eyes from Victoria. “If worse comes tae it, we might hae tae go all tha way up tae Northumberland an’ through tha River Tweed, an’ into Burwide.”

  “But tha's goin' tae give us more than a week travel tae Argyll.” Donald groaned, “All tha' time could take us tae Clan MacTavish an’ back.”

  “I ken,” Hector replied with a grimace of his own. “But I’m hopin’ it willnae.”

  Donald’s pensiveness was strangely audible to Hector’s ears, “Get ye some rest, Hector, half tha night is gone anyway. I’ll watch 'til dawn.”

  Feeling tremendously grateful for his friend's offer, shuffling behind Victoria, he pulled her into his arms. God, she was beautiful - awake and asleep. Beautiful, sweet, wise, courageous, and so loyal. Drifting off, Hector knew he’d do anything to keep her that way.

  They had just passed the benign waters of River Tees and were making a wide path through the Durham woods heading to Carlisle. It was suicide to even attempt and go through the towns as almost every signpost they passed on the country roads had a copy of a warrant for the arrest of two Scotsmen and warnings for the people to be on alert.

  As there were three of them, all garbed in English clothing, and Victoria’s head covered with a floppy hat stolen from a clothesline, they didn’t get much notice. The horses were trotting steadily, and since they avoided the towns, Hector was glad that he hadn’t gotten a horse for Victoria. In case they had to run, it was much easier for them to sprint on two mounts, guided by an experienced hand. She was light, so it wasn’t a bother to his horse, and even the small number of strange looks they got from sporadic passersby were ignored.

  The breaks taken at midday were eliminated as they could gain more ground with that time and they rode through the day to night, only stopping to answer nature’s call. By the time they got to the woods of Carlisle, all three were exhausted.

  Finding a thick copse in the depths of the woods, the three were barely able to spread the horses’ blankets on the thick grass before they were all asleep. Sometime during the night, Hector’s eyes flitted awake in the heavy darkness, possibly by instinct or a sixth-sense gained from his war training. The bushes were quiet – too quiet for his liking, and he gently shifted Victoria’s head from his chest.

  If there was one thing he knew from nights spent in the forest on hunts, the local wildlife would go, but they would eventually return. By all reason, Hector knew that he should be hearing the chirps of cicadas, the snuffle of mice, or the tiny crawl of lizards around him. This silence was unnatural and even the air itself felt still.

  Softly reaching for his sword, he silently nudged Donald who was flanking Victoria. To the man’s credit, his eyes opened, yet he stayed silent, and with one look to Hector’s wary expression, he too reached for his blade. A tiny shift to his left, of a man-sized shadow, sent Hector to his feet, and with a roar, he charged at the assailant.

  By the clang of metal-upon-metal, Hector didn’t need to be told that Donald was similarly engaged. Victoria was up and pushed herself as deep into the bush behind her as possible. The man Hector was fighting was dressed in plain clothes but handled the sword like a seasoned fighter.

  Ducking under a cutting swipe, Hector saw an opportunity and jabbed his sword, hoping to gut the man but was deflected and his sword slapped away. Dropping the weapon, Hector lunged at the attacker and wrestled him to the ground.

  The clang of metal-on-metal behind him told Hector that Donald was still fighting, and grabbing his shocked opponent, Hector planted his fist in the man’s face. He was almost bucked off from the flailing man, but he couldn’t afford to give this man the upper hand. A fist connected with his jawbone, sending waves of shocking pain right through his head, but Hector continued punching, and it was only when the man went still under him he sat back.

  “Argh!” a British voice shouted before a hard thunk and the man fell unconscious to the ground like a bag of rocks. Donald stood over him, panting hard, while the butt of his sword was hanging over the man’s body.

  Panting, Hector grabbed his dropped sword and stiffly ordered, “Donald, get tha hor–”

  “They’re ready,” Victoria called over, even as her voice was still wavering in fright. “I’ve loosened them.”

  Grabbing the blankets, Hector and Donald saddled the horses in record time, and then they were galloping out of the woods at top speed. The pain searing through Hector’s aching jaw was even more incentive to flee.

  The crossing to Dumfries was less than an hour’s hard ride, and the warhorses galloped with ease to the border, and for a good reason. Not too soon after they had left, the men from the forest had gotten on their horses and were chasing after them. How they had regained consciousness so quickly was beyond Hector’s understanding.

  Victoria was a tense bundle on his chest and Hector, though he wanted to comfort her, didn’t have the leeway to do so. Her face was tight and her shoulders stiff, but she didn’t make a sound as the swift, jerking ride continued. They had left the forest and had taken the road, and just as dawn lit the sky, the crossing to Scotland was in sight.

  Just as Donald had said, there were guards at the border, but they seemed sluggish. Even though sleepy, they grabbed their weapons and rushed out to fight. Hector was in no mood to humor them as they got close to the border gate.

  Hector, with a quick jab of his heels, instructed Euan to leap and they were over the heads of the guards and landed on the other side before the men could blink. The hard thuds of Donald’s horse lan
ding near him told Hector his second had done the same thing. They were now on the safety of Scottish soil.

  In relief, Hector rode a good way inside the borderland and turned back to see the two men who were chasing after them coming to a clattering halt at the border gate. A victorious smile crossed his face as he knew the bounty hunters could not touch Scottish soil without permission from higher-ups.

  On English soil, he and Donald were fair game for capture, but in Scotland, the hunters were committing a crime. Wrapping a hand around Victoria’s shuddering body, Hector steered the horse with his knee, lifted a hand, and impishly saluted them, grinning more when he heard them curse.

  Spinning around, he relished the victory, as temporary as it might be. He had no illusions - the Duke would lobby the King for permission to go into Scotland and retrieve his daughter - so they had to use the time they had and be as quick as possible. Victoria’s hand was clutching his arm and as the horse started walking, her heartbeat slowly calmed.