The Highlander’s Hellion

by Eliza Knight

  The hound growled as Roderick dropped to his knees and carefully rolled the body over. She was cold to the touch. Another flash of Jessica came into his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking them away. The growling hound brought him back.

  “’Tis all right. I’m going to help.” That seemed to calm the animal somewhat.

  The dog whined and nudged its owner. He licked her face as Roderick examined the body in search of signs of injury and found none.

  Out of respect, he tried to avoid viewing the lass’s more intimate parts. And then he found himself staring hard at her face. A face he recognized.

  Greer Sutherland.

  “Shite.” He leaned his ear toward her mouth. She wasn’t breathing. Touching his fingers to her neck, he felt a faint pulse. She was alive, but she was dying. Would be dead within minutes if he didn’t breathe for her. Might still be dead even if he did. “Ye canna die on me, lass. Not now.”

  Mary Mother of God, help me…

  There was no time for prayers. No time for thought. Only action. Save her. Save her. Save her. Roderick rolled her onto her back, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth with his, pushing his breath into her body. Her chest barely rose. He sucked a bigger breath, blew again, and this time watched her chest rise a little more.

  “Come on,” he urged her, panic in his veins.

  He continued to breathe into her mouth, over and over, watching her chest rise and fall, begging her to breathe on her own, until her body convulsed and she started to cough and sputter water. He eased her onto her side as the water kept coming from her lungs, and then she spilled the contents of her stomach, which was mostly water, too. The amount of water that rushed from her body seemed unfathomable for one so tiny.

  The hound wagged its tail and licked furiously at Lady Greer’s face, then at Roderick’s, as if in gratitude.

  “Let her breathe, pup,” Roderick said, patting the wet dog on the head. “She’ll be fine now.”

  He hoped…

  The lass didn’t open her eyes. She took shallow, shuddering breaths, gulping in air, and then she started to tremor. Gooseflesh covered her skin. The lass was frozen. She grimaced, an expression that must have easily matched his own. Roderick didn’t hesitate to unpin his plaid and wrap it around her as he lifted her up. With an iron will he’d not possessed in some time, he ignored the ache in his thigh, a stark reminder of just exactly how he knew her. He carried her back toward Twilight with the hound following diligently behind.

  “Ye’re safe now, lass,” he said to Lady Greer, hoping to calm her even in her unconsciousness. “We’ll get ye warmed up and fed, and then I’ll take ye back to your da and ma.”

  Roderick eased her onto Twilight, belly down, and then climbed up behind her and pulled her back into the cradle of his arms. He rubbed at her limbs, trying to warm her as best he could.

  Dinna die on me.

  Lady Greer shuddered against him, her body shivering so violently it shook his bones, too. Knowing what she’d done to him two years ago, some crueler than he would have advised he leave her on the beach. But he wasn’t evil. And no matter what had happened in the past, he wasn’t going to let her die. Ironic as it was that he should be the one to find her.

  And yet there was that little niggle in the back of his brain, that this was his chance to redeem himself.

  Her lips were still blue, the tips of her fingers wrinkled, and she’d yet to even flutter the thick fringe of her lashes. Even without seeing her vibrant blue eyes, the color of bluebells, he was certain it was she. When her hair dried, it would be the same fiery red he remembered.

  “What were ye doing out there?” He needn’t have asked, for she’d bragged enough about her skill the first time he’d met her. That was what had drawn him into a competition with her to begin with.

  But no amount of skill could go up against a storm at sea, especially alone.

  And she would have known that.

  Was this deliberate? Had she gone out to sea alone on purpose?

  He couldn’t fathom that she would have done such a thing with her dog on board, but then again, he’d seen the dark demons that could possess a person’s mind before. Was Greer as tormented as his sister, or had this been a true accident? He’d not find out until she woke.

  Roderick mumbled a curse under his breath and urged his mount into a gallop, leaving his boots on the shore, the dog in tow.

  When they reached the castle, he shouted, “I need hot water, broth and a healer.”

  He took no offer of help in dismounting, swinging his left leg over his mount’s head and dropping to his feet with Lady Greer in his arms. The ache in his leg pulsed, but he kept it at bay, snubbing the stab of pain at each step up the circular stair. What was pain when there was a life at stake? He carried her right up to his chamber, the only one he knew would have a bed made up. He yanked back the plaid blanket, slid her into the pressed sheets, and then started to pile blankets on top of her before recalling she wore a wet chemise.

  Ballocks.

  The wet garment had to be removed, else what was the point of trying to warm her? He glanced toward the hound who’d settled before the fire—and blast it all, were those his boots? Sitting near the snout of the hound were in fact a pair quite identical to his own. Had the dog brought them back?

  His attention returned to the bed, where Lady Greer groaned between the chattering of her teeth.

  “Dammit.” He yanked the blankets off, and closing his eyes to keep her honor intact, peeled away the chemise. He tossed a plaid back over her before he reopened them. Better to be able to swear on his life that he’d not seen the Magnus Sutherland’s daughter naked, else he’d find himself shackled in marriage or in a dungeon; either one had the same outcome.

  The last thing he wanted was to be married—and especially not to a hellion like Greer Sutherland. Aye, he’d save her life, but that was as far as he’d go in commitment to the chit.

  “What happened?” Jon came into the chamber behind him and took one horrified glimpse of Greer before backing toward the door. “What did ye do? Who is that?”

  Roderick gaped. “Ye think because ye see a half-dead lass in my bed that I must have done something to her? When have I ever warranted that kind of a reaction?”

  “Well, ye are standing only in your shirt…”

  Roderick glanced down at himself. “Ye have a point. But I found her this way on the beach, and I wrapped her up in my plaid.”

  Jon crept forward, trying to get a better look at her face. “What the hell was she doing on the beach?”

  What the hell indeed? “Swept in on the waves, I imagine.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I’m certain ’tis Lady Greer Sutherland.”

  Jon flicked a worried gaze at his brother, and when he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “Nay…”

  “Aye. In the flesh.” His brother was having a similar reaction to the one he’d had. It was one any MacCulloch would have. Indeed, every man in the Highlands who recalled what happened between the two of them a couple years before would react the same way.

  “Blue flesh,” Jon murmured.

  “Very observant. Why do ye nae add more wood to the fire? Make yourself useful. We canna have her freezing to death, not when I saved her from lungfuls of water.”

  “Ye need to get in the bed with her.” Jon nodded his chin toward the bed, his face entirely serious.

  Roderick took a large step back, enough that he almost tripped on the hound. “Like hell I will.” That was going a step too far. He’d already made certain not to see her without her chemise, but to hold her in his arms, naked? No way in bloody hell.

  Jon jabbed his finger toward the lass. “She is shivering. She’s at risk of hypothermia.”

  “I know that.” Roderick grimaced and uttered a curse, followed by another.

  “Body heat will help.”

  Roderick shook his head. “Not mine.”

  “Not mine, either, Brother. I want
to live.” Jon emphasized the last word as if lying with the lass was a sentence of death. Which it very well might be.

  “And what makes ye think I dinna?”

  “Wild guess.” Jon shrugged.

  “I’ll get some maids to come and do it.”

  “That’s your choice, Grim, but none of the maids will have the amount of body heat ye do. If I were ye, I’d get my arse in that bed afore she dies there and ye have to explain to her father how that happened.”

  Mo chreach. Roderick scowled all the more as he peeled back the covers and slipped quickly into the bed. The sheets were like ice from her body. He wasn’t even near her yet and already felt the cold.

  “Take off your shirt.” Jon didn’t turn around as he issued that instruction.

  Roderick tore his shirt off and tossed it behind him. It landed on the healer’s head as she rushed in with several servants behind her, carrying whisky, heated rocks, and boiling broth.

  “Good,” the healer said. “I would have told ye to do that.”

  Roderick ignored the old woman who’d aided in his birth. The lass was like ice as he curled his arms around her and brought her back flush to his body. The coolness of her thighs against his was actually a balm to the aching scar—and the other part of him that dared spark to life.

  He tucked her head beneath his chin.

  “Rub her,” the healer commanded, as she carefully laid hot rocks beneath the blankets.

  Roderick rubbed at the lass’s arms vigorously. And then her legs. All the while, he forced himself to think of things like rubbing down a horse, or giving the hounds a bath, and not the fact that he had a beautiful, venomous wench in his bed whom he’d not invited, and yet who he was very intrigued by.

  Chapter Four

  Warmth surrounded Greer, cocooning her in a decadent cloud. She snuggled closer to the heat, smiling in her sleep.

  Something niggled at the back of her brain, as though she were trying to remember something important. What was it?

  And then she bolted upright in bed, recalling exactly what she was supposed to remember. She’d nearly drowned.

  She jerked around to face the wide-eyed gaze of a man—a very handsome man—but still a man!

  “I’m naked,” she gasped, pressing her hands to her breasts to hide them from where the blanket had fallen.

  “Aye.” The voice was gruff, filled with sleep and grumpiness.

  She felt him slip from the bed, unable to make eye contact with him. Oh dear heavens…

  The chamber was completely unfamiliar to her. Not one at her own castle. Not one at any castle she’d ever been to. The wood floor was bare of rushes.

  Weapons lined the wall, and there was a single wardrobe beside the chamber door. To the left of the hearth were a small table and two large chairs. Chairs fit for a giant. Or from the looks of the man she couldn’t bear to view just yet—chairs fit for him.

  The shutters over the window were closed, so she couldn’t get a good look outside to perhaps judge from the landscape where she was. Which meant she had to rely on the stranger whose bed she’d been in. Naked.

  She wouldn’t have thought last night, as she floated in the darkened sea, that her situation could get any worse. But it would not be the first time she’d been wrong.

  “Where am I? Who are ye?”

  “Ye dinna recognize me?” He sounded surprised.

  Greer squeezed her eyes shut. Had she drowned and gone to Hell?

  “Are ye naked, sir?” she squeaked.

  “As the day I was born.” Why did he have to sound so gleeful?

  Greer fell back on the bed and pulled the blanket up over her head, feeling her face heat with shame. She could die now. Right now would be fine. Somehow, she’d managed to drown herself and had either become a man’s mistress or married him without her knowledge. Either way, her da was going to murder her, and her mother would be heartbroken.

  “Bring me a sword,” she croaked, her voice coming out muffled with the thick pile of blankets on her face.

  Even still, he seemed to have heard her. “Are ye going to finish me off then, lass?”

  Finish him off? “I canna comprehend what that means right now, but I do plan to finish myself.”

  “Oh, why’s that? Is that why ye went for a boat ride in a storm? Ye’ve a death wish? Or was it some sort of mad challenge ye issued yourself? See if ye didna die in a storm?” He watched her with serious concern, which she supposed was completely warranted.

  And then she felt a vicious pain in her chest.

  Oh, heavens! “Jewel,” she cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her poor dog. Her vision blurred. She reached to swipe at the tears, only to lose part of the blankets that covered her, and so instead she clutched them for the sake of propriety and let her vision go.

  An answering bark, and the clicking of nails on the wooden floorboards, shocked her tears into submission. A bark that sounded so familiar. How could it be?

  “Jewel?” She blinked rapidly to remove the water from her eyes. She was prepared to be disappointed but was gifted with a slobbery kiss on her cheek. She patted the bed, and Jewel leapt on. The man she’d still not gotten a good glimpse of protested.

  “Dinna let her up there. No dogs in the bed.”

  Both Greer and Jewel ignored him. “Oh my, how did ye get here?” she cooed into Jewel’s furry neck, wrapping her arms around her pet.

  “She was with ye on the beach where I found ye.”

  Greer pulled away from Jewel a moment and almost glanced behind her, until she remembered that he was naked. So, instead, she stared at the canopy overhead. “Ye found me?”

  “Rolling in the waves like driftwood.”

  “And ye brought me here.” It was a statement of fact rather than a question.

  “Aye.”

  “To your castle?” This she did ask, because though she was in a bedchamber, it didn’t mean it was a castle.

  “Aye.”

  All right, so it was his castle. Which meant he was a powerful man. Perhaps a clan chief or a relative of one. A steward even. Dear God, let her not have been saved and taken to bed by a steward. Her father would set the world on fire if she didn’t make an advantageous match.

  “And ye…took me to bed.”

  “In a matter of speaking.” He sounded so nonchalant about it. As though he took helpless lassies to bed on a daily basis.

  “An unconscious, drowned lass in your bed?” She frowned, and sensing her ire, Jewel barked. “Ye’re a brute, whoever ye are.”

  “I didna bed ye, if that’s what ye’re asking. I was warming ye up. Ye were near frozen and would have died. ’Twas a long night I had afore then, so I fell asleep. Not that I need to explain to ye. Ye should be thanking me for saving ye when ye wished to perish.”

  “Oh.” Heat suffused her face, and she still couldn’t look at him. “Thank ye.” She bit her lip, sinking her fingers into Jewel’s fur. “I didna wish to perish. I only wished for one last adventure…”

  “Ye’re young enough yet to have a lifetime of adventures.”

  She shrugged, not wanting to go into the details with a virtual stranger. Although there was something very familiar about him. Without peeking at him, she tried to recall the angles of his face, the harshness of his stare. He was as handsome as he was fierce, but there was also something sad about him. A sadness she felt an almost need to reverse.

  “Have we met before?” Greer asked.

  “Aye.” But he gave her no explanation.

  Well, if he wasn’t willing to expound on that, she could certainly try to pry it out of him. “If ye know me, what is my name?”

  “Ye dinna recall your own name?” He murmured something under his breath.

  “Nay, nay, I but want to know if ye truly know me. A test.”

  She could practically feel him clenching his jaw with annoyance behind her. “Ye and your tests, Lady Greer Sutherland. We’ve met before, and ye changed my life. And not for the better.”
r />   Greer frowned. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. And there was a definite note of sarcasm in his tone. She heard the whisper of fabric and assumed he was dressing.

  “Is that so?” she asked, curling onto her side away from him, sinking further into the warm fur of her pet.

  “Aye. A couple years have passed.” A thunk sounded behind her, as though he pulled on a boot. An echoing thunk made her certain of it.

  She bravely turned then, almost positive he was dressed. “Well, I canna say I recall…” Her words died on her lips.

  Standing opposite from where she was on the bed was a massive and striking warrior. He had dark hair the color of roasted chestnuts and mesmerizing eyes that could have been sapphires. Stubble covered his cheeks and jawline, but on his chin, he grew a short beard that connected to a well-trimmed mustache. There was a lump on the bridge of his otherwise straight nose, and his brows furrowed so deeply, she knew instantly who he was.

  “Grim.” She groaned and squeezed her lids closed, rubbing at her temples before staring at him again, just to make sure she was certain.

  “Aye, lass.” He glowered at her. “So ye do remember?”

  Greer had lost the ability to speak. All she could remember was that day two years before when he’d been at Dunrobin. She’d challenged him…and he’d sustained an injury… She regretted never having found a way to apologize for it. As it was, they’d not spoken since.

  Her scrutiny traveled toward his leg. Which thigh was it?

  “No need to answer that, Lady Greer. Your gaze is enough of a confirmation.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice came out a whisper as mortification tightened her throat. “I should have said so sooner.”