Highlander's Lionheart (Beasts 0f The Highlands Book 1)

by Alisa Adams

  “Gordon, we should ride,” Tristan said, interrupting Gordons’ sensuous perusal of the beauty in his lap. “That soldier will alert Mungan. We haven’t seen the last of the Ross’. We need tae get the women back to Conall Castle.”

  Gordon looked up sharply at Tristan. The spell of Godet broken. Tristan stared at him silently. “We know what Mungan is capable of Laird,” Tristan urged, “they cannae go back.”

  Aunt Hextilda rode her pony back up to them, handing Godet the dirks she had thrown. “Aye, I told Godet we needed to leave immediately. Told her of yer two parents betrothal pact between the two of ye which she needed to fulfill in order to be aligned with a MacDonell for protection for herself and her sisters.” She was nodding her head urgently at the two large brothers looking down at her.

  Gordon swallowed harshly.

  “I’ll marry her then if ye won’t,” Tristan stated firmly.

  “The hell ye will,” Gordon growled angrily. “She is betrothed to me!”

  Tristan raised his eyebrow at his brother. “Now she is betrothed to you, is she?” He smiled ruefully and added, “What of yer other betrothed, Brigda, waiting for ye at Conall Castle?”

  “Oh dear,” Godet said in quiet alarm. “Put me down so I may ride my own horse,” she commanded.

  “No,” Gordon replied curtly. “Ye are hurt. Ye will ride with me.”

  “Ye have a bride waiting for ye, ye should not have me in yer arms nor on yer lap. It is unseemly,” she said. “Isnae that so, aunt?”

  “Ye have a head injury; ye should not be riding. Listen to the Laird, dearie,” Aunt Hextilda said shrugging her shoulders as she started off down the road toward Conall Castle.

  The other girls followed her. Tristan looked at Gordon. “Here, she can ride with me,” he said as he reached for Godet.

  Godet shrank back against Gordon’s chest. Her hand gripping his arm firmly. “She stays with me,” he said to Tristan as he tightened his hold on Godet.

  “And Brigda?”

  Gordon did not answer. He just wheeled his horse around to head back down the road.

  “Ye’ll have to find her a husband,” Tristan called out to Gordon. Tristan watched as Gordon gave a brisk nod of his head.

  Tristan threw back his head, laughed, and galloped off after them. His brother was in a fine mess. Which woman would his brother find a husband for? Aye, that was the question.

  4

  Gordon slowed his pace to accommodate Aunt Hextilda. She had kept up a running stream of chatter by asking him all sorts of nonsensical questions. She was telling him about Godet’s stallion who ambled benignly along with the tiny woman like a huge dog. To Gordon’s horror, Godet had given him the name Bluebell. Bluebell was a stallion. The biggest horse Gordon had ever seen and it’s name was Bluebell. He shook his head at the wrongness of that.

  Godet stared up at the scowl on his face. “What is that scunner look on yer face aboot?” she asked him.

  “My scunner look, as ye call it, is that I am disgusted by yer choice of name, lassie. No stallion should have such a name,” he growled at her.

  “Why ever not? And what may I ask is yer stallion’s name, if it is indeed a stallion ye ride? Perhaps it is a mere gelding that the mighty Laird of Clan MacDonell rides?” she sneered in an irritated rush of breath.

  “He is a stallion”, he said roughly, “of course.”

  “But of course, and his name?”

  Gordon paused, scowling angrily.

  “Well now, dinnae dither! Oot with it,” Godet demanded, looking up into those steely green eyes. He would not look at her. She could see his jaw tighten.

  “He is Glashtin,” Gordon said curtly.

  Godet smiled up at him. “’Tis a grand name for him, I think.”

  Ina craned her neck around to look at them from where she was riding. “Ye named him after the fairy tales of the water horse?” she said delightedly. “That is lovely it tis! Hullo there, Glashtin!”

  “Tell me then, little Lady Ina, what is yer mare’s name then?” Gordon asked.

  “She is Myrtle and Ceena’s mare is Whins and Flori’s mare is Heather,” she said gaily, waiting for his reaction.

  “Ah, I see. The flowers of Scotland are they then?”

  “Yes, but no thistle, tae name a wee foal that isnae right.”

  Gordon growled under his breath as he stared at Godets stallion, still following Aunt Hextilda’s pony as docile as a lamb. It’s giant feathered feet were almost the size of the pony’s head. “But to name a massive stallion Bluebell is right?” He looked down at Godet with a raised eyebrow.

  “Look into his eyes, ye will see,” Godet insisted. “He has blue in his eyes. As blue as the water of the lochs. Perhaps he is also a Glashtin, a water horse?” She turned back around to stare down the road. Her back was warm where it touched his chest and she nestled back further against him out of the wind. His arm tightened, pulling her even closer against him.

  “Dare I ask the name of Aunt Hextilda’s pony?” he said in a rough voice, struggling to ignore Godet’s round bottom as she wiggled further back against his chest.

  “The little pony is called King Robert the Bruce, of course,” Godet said with a laugh. “She calls him King Bobby.”

  Gordon could not help the laugh that escaped him. “Of course, the pony is a king. I should have known.”

  They came over a hill and Godet let out a gasp at the sight before her. There, for as far as the eye could see, was nothing but heather - all different shades of purple heather – in the valleys and up and down the hills. A lovely small burn flowed gaily through the fields as it followed the road they were on.

  Godet could hear Ina exclaiming as her head turned this way and that to take it all in. Flori and Ceena were even chatting excitedly. “’Tis beautiful, Gordon, I mean, Laird!” the blonde sister said.

  “Ye’ve never seen the heather in full bloom in the Highlands, lassie?”

  “Not like this, no,” she replied reverently.

  “May we stop for a bit? We dinnae get a chance to eat our nooning meal,” Aunt Hextilda called to him.

  “Oh, yes, please, can we?” Ina added excitedly.

  “Lassies, we’ve far yet to go, we’ve barely been on the road a few hours,” Gordon said gruffly.

  “’Tis the truth I would love to stretch my legs and walk amongst the heather,” Godet said fervently.

  “Very well, but just for a short rest,” he yelled to her sisters. “We will stop here. Let yer horses drink from the burn, refresh yourselves, and then we move on, no rest from here.”

  Gordon dismounted and reached up to Godet. He put his hands around her waist and lifted her down. Her hands rested on his arms. They stood like that for a moment, staring into one another’s eyes. A moment passed, then another and another.

  Godet could feel his big hands spanning her waist. She could feel the heat of him as he stood so close to her. She felt the muscles bulging in his arms. She breathed in the smell of him mixed with the heather around them.

  “I’m fine now, I thank ye. My legs are steady.”

  “No.”

  “No?” she said in surprise looking up at him.

  “Ye have had a blow to yer head. I will walk ye down to the burn.” He frowned fiercely at her. “Ye could stumble and fall.” He stared at her, not letting go of her waist.

  “I really am fine, ye dinnae have to dae that. Ye can let go now, truly.”

  He frowned even more fiercely if possible. “Godet—”

  “Laird MacDonell, ye must let me go,” she said quietly but firmly, cutting him off.

  Gordon slowly eased his hold. He did not know what was wrong with him nor why he had not wanted to let her go. Her tiny waist had fit so perfectly in his hands. The light floral smell of her had made him feel drunk with her feminine scent. And those silver eyes… He found himself getting lost in them.

  “Lassie, dinnae be giving me orders.”

  “I wasnae aware I had,” she said and walk
ed away from him. She missed whatever it was that he growled at her back.

  Godet joined her sisters at the lovely, clear burn trickling through the heather. They sat at its banks and shared some bread and cheese. They offered some to Tristan and the other men that rode with them. Gordon stood there, glaring at them. Tristan noted that Gordon glared at any of the men that talked to Godet or stared too long at Godet. Tristan hid his smile and accepted another piece of thick brown bread from Ceena.

  Tristan heard a soft, husky voice say, “Interesting to watch, isn’t it?”

  He turned to Ceena. It was she who had quietly asked him that question. He started to ask her what she meant, but he was caught like a fish on a hook, mouth gaping open and all. Her green eyes were lit by the sun, and her cheekbones were lit up with a soft, pink blush from the wind. Her tawny blonde hair blew about her shoulders as her full pink lips smiled mischievously at him.

  “He doesnae want to notice her, but he cannae help himself, can he?” she said quietly to Tristan while motioning to Gordon.

  Tristan blinked a few times. Ceena was a beauty, a stunning bit of sunshine there beside him. “Aye,” he whispered.

  “So, ye have a mighty weapon ye carry under yer kilt dae ye? Is it a blade ye have made yourself?”

  Tristan groaned. The innocent lass had not understood his jest. “No, Lady Ceena, ‘tis a different kind of weapon I carry under my kilt.” He swallowed hard. She was so beautiful. “’Tis not for yer ears nor eyes—at least not yet,” he added in a hoarse whisper. He got up abruptly and went to join his brother. They stared at the group by the stream.

  “’Tis going to be difficult at the castle,” Tristan said.

  “Aye, bringing in all these beautiful women... It will be a terrible distraction to the men,” Gordon added.

  “Not just the men. Brigda won’t like it one bit.”

  “She will accept it,” Gordon growled.

  “Will she?”

  “Aye,” he said assuredly. “Let me know how it goes with the other men staring at yon bonny Ceena. Will ye accept that?” Gordon grinned. He had seen how his younger brother’s tongue had been tied when Ceena had turned to speak to him.

  Tristan was flustered a bit by Gordon’s words. “Aye,” he said as he brushed his hair back off his head and took a quick look at the lovely blonde. She was laughing at something one of her sisters said. Her laugh rang as clear and sweet as the stream. He sighed. “She is nothing to me,” he lied and walked away. He heard Gordon’s short laugh at his back.

  Gordon’s laugh stopped abruptly as he turned to look once again at the group of women. He heard Godet’s sweet, lilting voice. He rubbed his chin and swallowed hard. She will have to be nothing to me, he thought to himself and he too walked away.

  He was downstream splashing his face with water when he heard the first shout. He rose quickly, water droplets falling from his damp hair and face. One of his men was running toward him. He heard the thunder of hoof beats from where he stood.

  “What is it, mon? We are on MacDonell land. Who dares to come upon us?” Gordon said in a fierce voice. He did not anticipate any real threat. No other clan would dare challenge the MacDonells on their own land. Gordon MacDonell had already made his name as a young Laird and was respected, if not feared, by the other clans. Moreover, he assumed it may be a group of his own warriors come to escort them back to Castle Conall. There was no way Mungan could have amassed what sounded like a large group of warriors.

  “Laird MacDonell, ‘tis…” the soldier started to say, but then he dropped his hands to his knees and gasped for breath.

  “’Tis the women, brother,” Tristan explained as he ran up to him. “They took off at a gallop, they did!”

  Gordon started running for his horse. He called back to his men, “I heard the thunder of hoofbeats! Who approaches to make the women flee?” He did not wait for their answer, but instead, he leaped onto his horse and took off after the women. The thunder from the four huge draft horses was deafening. He kept his eyes on Godet for she had the lead. Her huge stallion’s hooves were ringing like steel and thunder as the draft horse tore down the road. Aunt Hextilda’s little pony, he noted, was staying tight on their heels with the old woman bent low over his neck. He scanned the horizon and saw nothing that would have frightened them into fleeing. Yet they were headed toward Castle Conall. What the sards are they doing? he wondered.

  Then he saw them.

  Gordon let out a furious roar. He kicked his horse’s sides into a faster gallop. His men heard the battle cry and increased their speed on their own horses to catch up to him. Gordon and his men were chasing the women from behind, but coming over the hill at a fast gallop was a group of warriors displaying the Ross plaid. They were trying to intersect and cut off the Ross sisters!

  Gordon surged ahead. The women’s horses were huge and muscular—they were not meant for speed but for strength. He watched as five of Mungan’s warriors caught up to the women, surrounding them and forcing them to stop. The women formed a tight circle around their aunt. Gordon’s heart raced as he urged Glashtin on faster and faster. He roared again when he heard Godet scream.

  However, he needn’t have worried. Gordon was stunned to see that, at Godet’s sharp cry, all four of the huge draft horses reared up. She gave another cry and the big horses moved forward on their hind feet together, their front legs striking out in the air toward Mungan’s warriors who were backing away rapidly. The women were urging their horses on, calling out to each other to keep the circle tight. It was a sight to behold. Godet’s horse’s front feet connected with a warrior’s head, knocking him to the ground. Ceena’s horse dropped down as she spun it around and at a command from her, the mare’s hind feet rapidly kicked out at the horse closing in on her. The huge draft mare’s hind feet again kicked out at the chest of the warrior’s horse, sending the horse reeling backward and the warrior flying off its back at the impact. The warrior took a kick as well and lay still on the ground.

  The other warriors began to back away. Seeing Gordon closing in on them, they turned and galloped back over the hill. Gordon let out a shrill whistle and sent his men after them. There were only three of the Ross warriors left as two were on the ground—dead.

  Gordon and Tristan came to a stop, their horses’ hooves sliding in the dirt road as they halted beside the women. Gordon could only stare. His mouth was in a firm line as his jaw clenched. His steely, green eyes looked Godet up and down, checking for injuries. Then he looked at her sisters. No one was harmed. Aunt Hextilda was actually smiling calmly.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was low, fierce, and furious. “What did ye think ye were doing?”

  Godet stared back at him, her breasts still heaving from the exertion of what they had just been through. She was startled at the look on his face. “We spotted more of Mungan’s men coming over the hillside. I did not know where ye had gone to.” She raised her chin at him. “I did what I felt was best. I gave the order to mount up.”

  “Ye?” he said, his brow furrowing, his voice dropping to an even deeper octave, his tone pure intimidating steel. “Ye gave the order?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly but firmly.

  “I am the Laird. I give the orders,” he growled, “and ye will follow them. Ye and yer sisters and yer aunt.”

  “I am used to taking care of myself and my sisters,” she replied stubbornly.

  “Ye are under my protection now. Ye will let me take care of ye. All of ye. Ye could have been hurt.”

  Ceena let out a quiet laugh then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Godet hushed her and then turned back to Gordon. “I think ye can see that we can defend ourselves.”

  “I see that may be the case this time against only five warriors, but next time, they will not bring only five. Next time, they will bring more. They may have muskets each to a man. Ye cannae risk yer aunt, or yer sisters’ lives. Those huge horses of yours may be strong enough to take out another horse and it’s rider, b
ut those warriors could have outridden ye. Ye dae not have fast horses, only strong ones. Bluebell could not outrun their horses or a shot from a musket. Neither could Myrtle, Whins, or Heather as they are carrying foals. Think on that,” he told her harshly.

  Godet stared at him. Tears brightened her eyes.

  “What now?” he asked in aggravation.

  “I had forgotten. Our poor mares are due to be mithers and I made them stand and fight,” she whispered. Ina started crying. Her other sisters joined in and began petting and praising their horses.

  Gordon looked up to the sky and sighed loudly. He heard Tristan laugh. “Let’s be off. We need to get to Castle Conall before nightfall,” the Laird said. Gordon and Tristan rode ahead. He could hear the women talking quietly behind them.

  “They made a sound decision,” Tristan whispered under his breath to Gordon.

  Gordon stared at him a moment. “Not to leave camp!” he argued.

  “To stop and stand and fight, that’s what those big horses are made for. She knew they couldn’t outrun them,” Tristan stated admirably.

  “I know,” Gordon admitted. “It scared the hell out me to watch, though. Especially when I could not get to their side fast enough.”

  “Aye,” Tristan agreed quietly, looking back to see Ceena smiling at him. She was still patting her mare, Whins, proudly. He shook his head and turned back around to face the road ahead.

  They rode on into nightfall, though their pace was not as fast as Gordon would have preferred. The big draft horses were winded by their racing gallop away from the Ross warriors and could not sustain a canter or even a trot for long. The girls suddenly called out to Gordon and he stopped abruptly. His breath catching at the alarm on their faces. Godet was slumped over Bluebell’s neck with her sisters trying to hold her up.

  “What has happened? Is she all right?” he asked as he rode back to them.