by Terry Spear
Odara looked pale again and was trembling so hard that Alana took pity on her, leaned down, and took her hand. Meeting her gaze, Alana said, "I will do this with or without your help. 'Tis the man's bairn also, and he has every right to know about it."
She hoped the sheepherder would come for Odara and take her to his own croft where they could raise his sheep, should they wish it. If he loved her as much as it appeared Odara loved him, Alana felt it could work.
Odara slowly nodded. "Rob MacNeill. He lives near the border. No' far from here."
"Near where I delivered the MacNeill bairn?"
"Nay, nay, north of there. No' south."
Letting out her breath, Alana nodded. She'd have preferred it was in the same area where she had visited before, where she had saved the MacNeill mother and her newborn infant. They would know her there. "I will go and seek out this man."
"What if he doesna want me? What if he only wished to have a little fun and didna intend to wed me?" Odara asked.
Alana straightened. "I will learn what I can. 'Tis early. My uncle willna return for mayhap several more days. He never learned of the time that I had delivered a MacNeill babe. He willna learn of this."
Odara said, "He doesna intend to wed you to one of the McDonald's sons, does he?"
"I dinna know for certain. 'Tis none of my concern as my uncle would say." Though it bothered Alana to admit as much, it was the way of their world. "Rest. I will return when I can. I will pay the lad to take care of your sheep until the sickness passes. He will need to be fed…"
"I will feed the lad. You have your mother's ways, my lady, God rest her soul."
"Her temper also and her willfulness, I fear," Alana said smiling, then made for the doorway. "'Tis still early. I will return before dark falls."
The boy was already off with the sheep in the heather, letting them eat their fill, when Alana headed west toward the MacNeill border and the stream that divided their lands. This time it would be different from when she had crossed into the MacNeill land bordering her uncle's. She would not be as welcome as she sought to deliver a bairn and save the mother's life. She would be searching for the father of her clanswoman's babe who might not be willing to claim it as his own nor desire to wed the lass. What if he was already married?
Men like that would not be held accountable. She prayed this was not the case. That he would love Odara and return for her. That she would love him back. And she prayed his niece was not too ill, that she could aid her, and she would soon recover.
She thought her brother might accompany her for a bit. But he wasn't around now. She didn't know what triggered his appearances. Why he would leave her for days, then suddenly materialize into her life again.
She soon reached the stream that separated the Cameron and the MacNeill lands and crossed it, then traveled another hour north. She had seen nothing but emerald green hills, the lacy edge of a forest, a small blue loch, and several streams filled with mossy stones. The lands between the Cameron and the MacNeill were vast, but she thought the shepherd would live close to the border—as Odara had claimed—if he had been slipping over it to see Odara on a regular basis. After traveling a couple of more hours and finding no croft or a sheepherder grazing sheep, she worried that when she crossed the stream dividing their lands, she had headed farther north than the man lived or she was still too far south.
She sat upon her horse, surveying the lavender drifts of heather, purple thistles proudly swaying in the breeze, a hawk winging its way across the blue sky now covered in clouds so blended and flat that it was like looking at a soft pillow of thin white wool cloth.
The air was warm, a steady breeze blowing in her direction when she thought she saw movement on top of one of the green hills only broken up by a cairn and a smattering of trees. Was it him? The shepherd grazing his sheep?
Or was it a bird in the heather, flying off into the sky?
She wasn't certain. She rode toward the hill to see if she might find some sheep. When she finally reached the top, she saw no one. But she heard splashing down below the hill. Curiosity got the best of her.
She moved further to the edge of the sloping hill and stared down at the sight of a dozen or so men bathing in a loch. And froze. They were naked, their plaids, tunics, boots, and belts discarded on the grass, their horses grazing nearby.
A lad was running down the high hill toward them at a frantic pace, arms flying, fully clothed, and she wondered now if he was the one she had seen atop the hill, but he'd moved so quickly, he was like a red grouse flitting from the heather.
"There is a lady," the lad called out, pointing toward the hilltop, motioning toward Alana, not realizing she'd followed him here.
One of the naked men who had left the water was standing on the bank, plaid in hand, but not covering himself, his attention turning from the excited lad to the woman on the hill. The tall man was bronzed and muscled, his hair an earthy dark brown, a sturdy jaw, and dark eyes that stared at her as if he couldn't believe she really was there, staring back at him. Like a statue, she couldn't look away if she'd wanted to.
The other men stayed in the water where it licked at their chests. They were quietly observing her, not saying a word as if they thought she was a spirit or sprite or maybe the fae. Good, let them think that, and they'd stay put.
Breaking free from the shock that she'd felt at spying the naked Highlanders—and she was loathe to admit—fascination she experienced, she didn't wait to see what would happen next. Their grazing horses and swords lying next to their plaids and not a sheep around told her enough. A sheepherder was not among these men. A sliver of panic seized her at once. She tried to remind herself why she was here. That she needed to find the man named Rob MacNeill. To find the little girl who was ill who was his niece. But what if these men might wish her harm?
She whipped her horse around and headed back down the hill from whence she had come, careful to pick her way among the rocks lest she injure her horse.
She would have a good head start as it would take the men time to dress and mount their horses. Or so she thought. She had not taken in account how quickly her own clansmen would throw on their clothes and be ready to leave at a moment's notice when they were faced with trouble.
The men shouted to each, ribald comments of who would catch the Sidhe, the fae, and what they would do with her. "Your brother found a pearl in the sea. You are swimming in a loch and see the vision of the fae, Dougald. Mayhap this is your destiny to capture her and make her your own."
They truly couldn't believe she was one of the fae. Her heart pounding with fear, she attempted to keep her wits about her and tried to remain calm, resolute, determined to find the MacNeill and his niece.
As soon as she reached the base of the hill, she rode as if the devil was after her. The forest was too far away to reach it and hide before the men could dress, mount, and take after her.
She heard horses' hooves impact the earth as they headed toward the top of the hill.
She glanced back and could only see one man sitting tall on his horse's back. She could not see him well from this distance as much as she was running her horse, except for a silhouette against the bright sky. He was wrapped in plaid, a sword at his hip, the hilt poking out of its scabbard. She could not tell the color of his hair, or what he wore in his bonnet that would clue her in as to his clan's affiliation, though he had to be a MacNeill or a man from a clan that allied with them.
She believed he was the man who had been standing on the shore.
She could not tell the expression he wore as he sat quietly observing her. His head turned to survey the land behind her, searching, she assumed, for anyone else who might have come with her. From this, she gathered he was a cautious man, prudent, and for an instant she admired him for it.
Looking again toward the distant forest, she hoped he would think it a trap and would not follow her. Mayhap she should call out to her invisible soldiers and wave in the man's direction. Would he take
heed then?
Or mayhap she should stop, wait for him to come to her, explain to him what she desired to know. The man would know she wished no one any ill will. Mayhap he could direct her the right way. Surely if he was riding in this area, he would know of the man called Rob MacNeill. She was getting nowhere all on her own. And the sky would begin to darken before long.
She stopped her horse and turned to see the man still waiting on top of the hill not moving in her direction.
As if she was facing down a wolf—though she did not want to think of herself as a sheep—she remained sitting very still upon her horse, the only movement, the mare's heavy breathing, and her tail swishing back and forth. Alana's own heart beat at just as frantic a pace. Alana couldn't tear her gaze away from the man's progress as he finally made his way down the rocky slope on horseback.
She couldn't decide. Should she continue to run for the forest? Or speak her business to the man? Since only one was coming to meet her, she could do this.
Cautiously, he maneuvered his horse over the rocky terrain. Again she admired the way he handled the situation, not tearing down the hill, risking his horse's neck and his own. No, he was a careful man, caring about his mount, just as much as she had been about hers.
That all changed when he reached the bottom of the hill. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse on and tore across the glen to reach her. Her heart nearly drummed out of her breast as the fear took hold again. She had to force herself to keep her horse in place and not move a hair from her position. To show him she was not afraid. That she had a mission, and she would not be dissuaded.
To her horror, a second man on horseback crested the hill, and then several others. No, this was not what she had intended. Just one man. A quick question. A direction to head in.
What if this was a raiding party that intended to breach the Cameron's territory, and she could be in the midst of it? What if they thought she would warn her people that men of the MacNeill clan were coming?
Her blood becoming ice and her only thought now being to flee, she turned her horse and headed for the forest. She was too deep into the MacNeill lands to easily make her escape. But she had a better chance if she was within the cover of the forest.
"Dougald!" Someone shouted from the hilltop as the men began making their way down to join the one who was trying to intercept her. "It could be a trap!"
Whoever had hollered after him sounded worried for his safety. As if the Highlander had to fear a lass such as herself. Not that she wasn't armed. She didn't believe in her wildest dreams she could fight off a man as big as the one chasing after her with nothing but her dirk though.
She glanced back to see him close the distance between them, his horse's legs longer, his determination to catch up to her evident in his expression, a grin splitting his face in two. So he wasn't as much worried about who she was as he was in taking pleasure in the hunt.
Her heart was racing as fast as her horse's now, and she knew her mare would never outrun the man's long-legged steed.
Dark-haired and his eyes just as dark a brown, he eyed her with a devilish smile and a body that screamed Highland warrior, which she had already seen way too much of. He was every lass's nightmare—a man who most likely bedded every wench he chanced to meet. Just like her brother had done. She was certain the lasses would be very willing.
She hadn't even reached the lacy fringe of pines edging the forest when the warrior rode up beside her, his leg brushing hers, shocking her with his familiarity.
Worse, he did not do what she expected. Instead of seizing the reins from her hands and yanking her horse to a halt, he seized her!
Chapter 4
Shrieking in startled surprise, Alana fought the man who yanked her onto his lap. She tried to hit him and jump free. His arm was like a steel band gripping her tight against his body as he headed back toward the rest of his men still trying to catch up to him.
"Let me go, you barbarian!" she screamed.
He laughed, nuzzled his face in her hair, and laughed again. "'Tis a bonny lass I find this bright day seeking my pleasure, eh?" His voice was dark and filled with merriment.
"I seek naught of the sort from you, sir," she ground out. He was holding her so tight as she tried to wriggle free, she felt she was wearing a léine two sizes too small and could barely take in enough air to fill her lungs. "My horse," she rasped out, attempting to put some distance between her and the muscled Highlander, but he only tightened his grip on her, pressing her indecently against his hard chest and his groin.
"You will fall, lass. Sit still. My cousin, Niall, has reined in your horse. Although I must say I am certain he wished he would have been the one to rein you in instead."
"I am not a horse!"
"Of that I am well aware." He squirmed a little beneath her as if she was making him uncomfortable.
That's when she noticed just why he had the need to reposition himself beneath her. Though she'd attempted not to look at that part of him that had been growing in size when she had observed him naked at the loch, she imagined his staff was doing the very same thing now beneath his plaid. Beneath her!
She tried to move away from him, to not incite his desire for her any further, yet he let out his breath in a whoosh and said, "Lass, quit your wiggling. You are making me want you something powerful."
That made her sit stock still, her back as stiff as his staff pressing against her in such an indelicate way.
"If you were a gentleman, you wouldna be having such thoughts."
He gave a hearty laugh. "It has naught to do with being a gentleman, lassie, but the way your arse is seated against my…"
"Say no more," she quickly said. "I wish to hear no more."
He chuckled. Then he grew serious as his men joined him, and they began to ride back over the hill.
His cousin, Niall, looked similar to the man they'd called Dougald, the man she was riding with—so improperly. Tall, impressive, muscled, dark haired, though he had a reddish cast to his locks, and the same smiling dark eyes.
His dark hair curling about his shoulders, Niall was grinning his fool head off at her as he rode beside them, holding her mare's reins. "Your brother found his lass in the sea. Mayhap you have found yours in the heather?"
Dougald's brother? Dougald was the laird's third eldest brother. She had heard that James MacNeill, who ruled Craigly Castle, had recently wed a lass found half-drowned in the sea. Her kinsmen had joked that he could not find a suitable wife so he had to dredge up the sea, looking for one.
Dougald was one of four brothers. Malcolm, the second eldest, had married a Lady Anice, cousin to King Henry's wife, without the king's permission. Her uncle had said the man would not live once the king learned of the traitorous deed, but Henry had welcomed Malcolm into the fold. Alana had heard rumors that Anice had fae sight, and she'd thought she would like to meet her. Yet, would the lady appreciate that Alana could see the dead? Mayhap not. She probably attempted to hide her curse just like Alana did and would not wish others to know of it.
The youngest, Angus, she'd heard was wounded in a battle at Lady Anice's castle and did not know if he had survived or not.
Her uncle would kill the MacNeills, every last one of them, if he knew she had been taken against her will by the laird's brother himself.
"You are Dougald MacNeill? Brother of James? Laird of Craigly Castle?" she asked warily.
"Aye. One and the same."
He did not ask her name as if it was of no import. She would offer it and mayhap he would think better of ferreting her off to God knew where. Although she suspected he was taking her to see James.
"I am Alana, niece of Laird Cameron. You must let me go. Now!"
Dougald shook his head. "The niece of the Cameron wouldna be traipsing about our land, spying on naked warriors bathing in a loch."
She felt her whole body heat with mortification. A couple of the men grinned at her. One said, "Ye should have joined us, lass, on such a warm day."
She held her chin higher, not about to respond to the rogue.
"Whose horse did you steal? 'Tis a fine specimen. She should bring a goodly sum," Dougald said.
"She is mine, you heathen!"
Dougald chuckled and the sound made her believe he enjoyed her calling him such an ungracious name.
"She wants you," Niall said sagely. "When the lasses begin calling men names, 'tis a good sign they want you. Dinna you agree, Gunnolf?"
That's when she noticed the man with blond hair and blue eyes who looked more like a Norseman than a Scot. He was just as rugged looking as Dougald and his cousin, just as carefree with his smile.
"'Tis a saga we tell at home—when a wench is beating on us and calling us names, she is indeed in love with us," Gunnolf said.
They had to be jesting with her. That last comment made Alana snap her mouth shut. For only a moment. She tried again, only this time declaring her mission here. "I came seeking Rob MacNeill."
"Which one?" Niall asked. "We have a dozen or more in the clan by that name."
"A sheepherder."
"That makes it more like…a handful." Niall sounded as though he was guessing.
"What do you want with him?" Dougald loosened his grip on her as if he suddenly believed she was in love with the man or some such thing.
She quickly had to make him understand the import of the matter. Then she reconsidered. What if their laird was angry that the man had left a Cameron clanswoman with child? He might not approve any more than her uncle would.
"'Tis only a matter that I must discuss with him. Alone."
Gunnolf scrubbed his hand over his blond beard as if contemplating the matter. "Sounds to me like a love match gone wrong." He glanced at her slim waist as if he was looking to see if she was indeed with child. "Are you certain the man would wish to see you? That he would acknowledge the bairn was his own?"
