The Highlander's Warrior Bride (14 page)

Ross must have realized that when he came here. What made him stay? Unless he thought that no one would look for
him here. Or perhaps he’d been able to turn his cousin’s mind against the Bruce. Worse still, he paid the man to protect him. Even crueler, perhaps Ross had taken hostages to ensure that the town protected him.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Julianna had a str
ong intuition that the latter was exactly what was happening here. She flicked a nervous gaze at Ronan, trying to catch his attention, but he didn’t take notice, or else he ignored her.

“Ronan,” she whispered harshly.

He did glance at her then. “What is it?” he asked in a similar tone.

“I need to speak with ye forthwith.”
Julianna tried not to make her wondering eyes too obvious, but she had the sudden feeling they were being watched closely. Almost as though people peered from the cracks in their shuddered windows and doors. Faithfully taking in every feature of Ronan and Julianna to report back to Ross.

She imagined them brandishing pitchforks, knives, wooden cooking spoons, chairs and whatever else they could get their hands on. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

“We need to leave,” she whispered without looking at him. Her eyes locked on the guard from the top gate. She’d turned around to look up at him and the eerie smile upon his face was enough to make her blood run cold. “We’re about to be served up on a platter, I can feel it.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched Ronan stiffen. His fingers flexed on the reins and he stopped, leaned down the side of his horse, closest to her, as though studying his leg.

“I feel it too. But I dinna know how we can leave.”

Julianna made the pretense of studying his horse too. “They have yet to close the gate. We could make haste and charge through it.”

Ronan nodded. “I fear that may be our only option.”

A door creaked open and a man with a hideous face stepped out, his body silhouetted by the light within his small croft. In his hand was a small axe.

“We’d best do so now,” Julianna said. She smiled at the armed man to throw him off balance. It worked. He stumbled in his path and gave her a look, as though second guessing himself. Good, while his guard was down it was time to act.

Julianna swung Brave around, pulled her sword from beneath her saddle and charged the main gate. The guard on top’s evil smile fell and he worked without success to notch an arrow, the shaft slipping from his fumbling fingers. She smiled up at him as she passed under. From behind her, she heard the sounds of an angry mob, and a thunderous roar from Ronan.

“God, please, let us get clear of this mass of followers!” she cried up to the heavens.

Hoof beats pounded behind her, and she chanced a glance to see that Ronan came up quickly toward her. A horde of weapon brandishing men ran after them, shouting obscenities and shaking their sticks in the air. But they were only on foot, they wouldn’t be able to catch up to Ronan and Julianna.

An arrow whizzed by her cheek landing in the ground a few feet in front. Brave ran it over. Seemed the guard had finally gotten his arrow notched. Leaning low over her horse, she urged him to run faster. The man may have missed the first time, but there was no telling if his mark would be true the second time around.

Pain seared her thigh.

She’d been hit! Julianna didn’t stop. Didn’t look to see what the damage was. They had to get into the trees. They had to get to a point where they were safe. After seeing the town, she wasn’t sure where that would be. Robert the Bruce was up against a lot more than just a few wayward earls. Those even in his backyard appeared to have changed sides—or at the very least were willing to do so for a price, possibly their lives.

They broke through the trees and Julianna used her sword to block the branches that swung dangerously toward her face. Her thigh throbbed something fierce, making her hands shake. Still, she didn’t let go of the reins. Neither did she stop.

“Whoa!” Ronan called. “Ye can slow down. They’ll nay come in here after us.”

Julianna slowed her horse, and when she’d come to a stop with Ronan beside her, she glanced down to her thigh. No arrow. Must have grazed her. Tentatively, she touched the spot. A tear in her skirts, clean through her chemise. Warm, stickiness met her fingertips. Another fraction of an inch and the arrow would have been fully embedded.

“Ye’ve been hit?” Ronan lifted her hand, his eyes widening as blood glinted from her fingers in the moonlight.

“Nay, just a flesh wound.”

“Still an injury. Let us wrap it up.”

Julianna nodded, lifted her skirt
slightly and ripped a strip from the bottom of her chemise.

“Let me,” Ronan said.

“I can manage,” Julianna said sharply.

Ronan tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger. His gaze soft
ened. “I know ye can manage, but every now and then we have to accept help from others. Trust others to have our best interests at heart. Even warriors. Ye can trust me, lass.”

Julianna swallowed. Why did he have to be so damn smart?

“All right.” She handed him the strip of linen and when he took it, their fingertips brushed, sending a spark of the earlier sensations she’d had. Sensations that contradicted themselves in mind, being both wanted and unwanted.

Slowly, she lifted her skirts, until her thigh was exposed. A gash about three inches long marred her flesh.

“’Tis a shame the fool marred your skin.”

Julianna shook her head,
and smiled full of pride. “A warrior is never ashamed of her battle scars.”

Chapter Fourteen

V
iewing the blood on Julianna’s thigh had made Ronan see red—fury so potent he’d literally gone blind with it. The sheer urge to whirl around and run through the bastard who’d drawn her life’s essence was overwhelming. Miraculously, it was the lady herself who calmed him. She didn’t seem fazed by the wound. Instead, she was proud of it.

A warrior is never ashamed of
her battle scars.

How right she was.
Plenty of times, Ronan had admired the knotted, white lines on his body. Recalled each wound, who had put it there and with what weapon. He too recalled how he’d retaliated. Julianna didn’t have time to retaliate, but he had a feeling she would soon. One way or another. Something he’d learned about her, besides her passionate nature, a calculating force to be reckoned with lay beneath the surface.

Damn, if she didn’t arouse his ardor. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d meet a woman like her. Even when his eyes had first cast upon her, he’d only been mystified. Wished to pursue her because of all the intrigue that surrounded her. But now… Now he wanted to
peel away her layers—clothing and mind.

“What are ye smiling about?” she asked, scowling at him in that way he so adored.

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

She tilted her head and studied him. “I think we’d best get back to that croft. And at first light, we need to make haste for Eilean Donan.”

“What is your plan?”

“I think we need to discuss with the Bruce and Wallace. We need reinforcements.” Disappointment filled her voice and a slight crease marred her brow.

“I know ye wanted to do this on your own.”

Her lips pressed together and she shrugged. “I did. But I’m nay such a fool as to admit that I can.”

“I would never call ye a fool.” He knotted the strip of linen onto her wound.

“Thank ye.”

“No need to give thanks, my lady.”

“I know it, but
’tis due all the same. Ye’ve put your faith in me. Trusted me. That is important to me, and so I give ye my thanks.”

He inclined his head to her, and pushed her skirts back in place.

“When we reach the croft, I can take a better look at the wound. Dress it more properly.”

Julianna nodded. “
I’m afraid I may need ye to burn it.”

Ronan bit the tip of his tongue. The last thing he wanted to do was burn her flesh, but he wasn’t going to argue with her, that wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Let us hurry, afore they rouse their horsemen to come after us.”

“Aye. There’s no telling if they had more scouts in these woods.”

They clucked to their horses and hurried back the way they’d come. Just under an hour later, and nary an incident more, they made it back to the small cluster of crofts that housed them the night before. Ronan dismounted and checked each one to be sure there were no squatters. When all was safe, he led his horse into the larger croft with Julianna following. Ronan used his flint to light a candle.

“I’ll wipe down the horses and get them settled if ye want to fetch some wood for the fire.”

Ronan nodded. “Bar the door.”

“I dinna think that’s necessary.”

“All the same, ’twill make me more comfortable.”

Thankfully, she didn’t argue with him. It appeared they were leveling out their ground together, each knowing when the other was right and no longer arguing for the sake of it. Ronan resisted the urge to grip her hand, pull her into his embrace before he left in case they never saw each other again. There could be no embracing. Having made that clear earlier, he was certain she’d be sure to keep her distance. And it would be safer for them both that way. He didn’t know who her brother was, and didn’t want to start a feud with the man. ’Twas also obvious they both had their objectives in life and a relationship wasn’t a part of it.

With a last longing look, one in which she returned, dammit, he lurched out the door. He would just have to make sure he made it back. The sound of wood scraping against the door eased his mind. She’d done as he asked.

Ronan set about getting the wood and searching for any other useful items. He didn’t tarry long, worried about her wound. It most likely pained her something fierce. And then he remembered with stinging clarity—they’d run out of whisky.

Ballocks!

He knocked on the door, and it was quickly opened by Julianna. She peered out, eyes wide, her sword drawn. No prettier sight had he ever seen.

“Ye’re back.” She stated the obvious with a sigh of relief in her voice.

When he entered, Ronan noticed pain etched around her eyes.

“Lass… I dinna have any more whisky.”

“Then ’tis a good thing I took some off a couple of those rogues.” She rummaged through her pack and held up two flasks, a smile curling her lips like she’d found a great prize.

“A good thing, aye. I’ll light the fire, then we’d best address your wound.”

Her smile faded and she nodded. “Aye.”

“Does it pain ye?” he asked, setting the wood upon their older ashes. They wouldn’t need the fabric to help light the fire this time.

“A little.”

Ronan smiled. She most likely understated her pain. “Come sit.”

He spread out a plaid on the
floor, and she settled upon it, her legs stretched out before her.

“This feels different in the
candlelight than the shine of the moon,” she said, suddenly appearing shy.

“Och, lass, ye’re a warrior. Show me your wound.” His gruffness seemed to calm her, and she smiled, pulling her skirt up just enough to show the bloodied s
trip of linen tied to her thigh, and healthy helping of her curvy leg and fancy hose. He’d not expected to see such finery on a woman who cherished her weapons over her gowns.

But he
didn’t have time to admire her; the linen was soaked with blood. Damn. If the wound was still bleeding, then he would have to cauterize it. Bleeding still after so long meant it was deep, and her body was having a hard time staunching the flow. In a perfect world, they’d have a healer sew it up with nice poultice of healing herbs to ease the pain and hinder infection. But alas, it was the two of them inside a dead family’s croft with naught but the supplies in both their packs.

“I’ll need some more of your linens,” he mused.

Julianna nodded and ripped off several more strips. “This chemise has gone to waste anyhow, might as well use as much of it as we need.”

Ronan took the strips from her, wishing he could at least boil a pot of water… Though he had a pan, he didn’t have as much water. Just the
little bit left in his waterskin and he’d not had time to refill. The well between the crofts had been blocked by a bolder—probably by the same men who’d destroyed those who lived here. Normally, he was so much better prepared, but having to run for their lives for at least three occasions in the last twenty-four hours, he’d had more on his mind than refilling water.

Lucky for them both, she’d had the presence of mind to take the whisky.

“Hold still, lass.” Gingerly, he used his dirk to cut off the bloodied linen.

Julianna hissed
, her muscles tensing, but she remained still. He tossed the linen into the fire and gazed at the wound. It gaped open, an ugly gash, but did not appear to be bleeding much.

“Looks like ye may not have to burn it,” he said, relief in his voice. He’d not wanted to do it. Didn’t want to cause her the pain, and couldn’t bear to be the one who hurt her further—even if it might save her life.

“I was afraid with our riding I’d torn it open more, but ye did a good job tying it in the woods.” Her voice was soft, breathy and he wondered if she was feeling faint.

“Here, take a sip.” He held one of the flasks to her lips and watched as she took a healthy gulp. “Now, I need to pour it on your leg. Want something to bite on?”

“Are ye offering yourself?” Julianna’s lips quirked in a tease.

Ronan laughed. “Nay, not with the wound ye’re likely to leave.”

“Aw, I willna bite hard.”

Ronan grunted his disbelief. “I’ve seen a man bite a leather strap clear in two.”

“A belt, good idea.” Julianna hastily untied the belt at her waist and put the end of it in her mouth. “Do it,” she said around the leather.

Ronan gazed into her eyes, hating what he was about to do, but knowing it was necessary. He poured.

Julianna’s eyes widened, jaw clenched and her lips turned white. She spit out the belt and screamed at the top of her lungs. He ducked to the left when her hand flailed out, fisted and aimed toward him. Ronan jumped to his feet and backed away, trying not to laugh.

“Hell of a reaction, lass.”

“Arsehole!”

He did laugh then. “I told ye ’twould not feel good. What of your other wounds, have they nay been cleaned with whisky?”

Julianna clenched her teeth and took some long jagged breaths. “I was passed out. I’m sure they were, but I dinna remember.”

“Well, now ye’ve another tale to tell.” He chuckled some more and handed her the flask to sip on. “Al
though, would have been a more entertaining story if ye could say ye clobbered me. I supposed if ye want to add that, I could rub my chin during the telling.”

Julianna smiled,
raising the flask to her lips. Before she sipped, she said, “I think I will.”

After she’d had a moment to breath
e, and take quite a few sips of heady liquor, Ronan knelt beside her once more. He studied the wound. Although a few droplets of blood beaded to the surface, it appeared to have otherwise finished its flow for now. All the soaking of the linen must have happened quite soon after he wrapped it. But he’d made sure to tie it tight, and that had most likely aided in stopping the flow.

“I dinna think I need to burn ye. I’d like to wrap it up again and as soon as we reach the castle have the healer take a look, make ye a paste.”

Julianna nodded. “Agreed.”

Ronan tied the linen strips to her wound, taking care with her leg, but knotting it securely.
“Ye were brave today, my lady.”

“As were ye.”

Ronan stoked the fire and then settled down beside her.

“We make a good team.”

“Perhaps I’ll allow ye to be my second.” Her voice held a teasing edge.

“I might take ye up on it. I’d let ye have my back. The way your gut told ye we were going to be attacked was plenty enough evidence for me.” He took a pull of the whisky, feeling it warm his belly. “Well, and the way ye fought in the woods. Your aim is true, and your intuition stellar.”

Ronan grabbed his satchel and pulled out some oatcakes.

“Hungry?”

She shook her head. “Not truly.”

“Will ye eat just one at least? Ye lost a bit of blood and your body could use the sustenance to regain its strength.”

Julianna nodded and took the offered oatcake, munching on it like a child who abhorred their supper. Ronan clenched his jaw to keep from laughing. She looked every bit like Tad did when he was fed oatcakes.

“I can feel your laughter,” she muttered.

“How so?”

“Ye tremble a little, and ye keep clenching your jaw, but aside from that, I can see it in your eyes.” She flicked her gaze toward his, locking her sights on him.
“Ye have a good game face, Ronan, but I’ve gotten to know ye over the last few months. My training is in studying people. I can read ye, even if ye dinna want me too.”

Why did her words make his blood surge with desire? Was it the fact that she’d been studying him, watching him, that she was actually interested enough to do such? Or was it that she’d
understood him. Connected with him on a different level.

Only his brothers, Magnus and Blane had ever meshed with him, been able to read his mind. Even his sisters Lorna and Heather weren’t able to read past his placid
ity when he wanted to hide. His cousins Daniel and Brandon came close. Friends since they were bairns, the men had grown up together, seeing each other often enough to have lived in the same castle.