Finding My Highlander (6 page)

Chapter Eight

Andra wanted to sink deeper into sleep but something more disturbing than nightmares pushed her to wakefulness. Shivering and cold her eyes opened to rest upon the last glowing embers on the fire then flicked through the darkness surrounding her. Once again, the shock of her circumstances slammed her senses leaving her disoriented for several minutes. How long had she been asleep? Aside from Lorne’s quiet snores, the cave appeared empty. She could barely see the entrance. She added some sticks and peat to the fire and checked on Lorne. He appeared to be sleeping more easily and after their few words, she believed he would recover. A hand to his forehead confirmed that his fever, though still warm, was substantially lower, approaching normal.

She rose quietly and went outside to tend her needs. Pushing past the brush at the entrance, she lifted her face to a sky bright with stars. A pale sliver of moon hung on the horizon above an inky black forest. She couldn’t ever remember such quiet. The small sounds of critters scurrying under leaf cover entered her awareness. An owl hooted and she spied the white underside of its great wings gliding across the craggy escarpment. It swooped down and snatched an unsuspecting mouse in its talons. She felt a bit like that mouse, just a scuttling little creature snatched by the razor talons of a mysterious destiny.

Her fingers drifted to her cross and then to her lips where she could still feel the pressure of Kendrick’s kiss. Prickling heat infused her skin. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered to the stars. “I’m suffering from Stockholm syndrome; it’s that business of developing an incomprehensible attraction to one’s captor.”

Where was he anyway? Where were the other men? How long had she slept?
Questions hammered into her brain one after another. She suspected it might be near dawn as the first chatter of birds rose from the trees. Raising her arms in a wide stretch and sucking in a deep, cleansing breath, her nose filled with the faint smell of smoke.

“Where is that coming from?” All her senses went on alert. Was there another camp nearby? If enemies were pursuing them, could the smoke be from their campsite? She climbed to the top of the ridge. A strong wind carried the sharp, acrid smell of fire, though she couldn’t see flames. She questioned whether she should leave the shelter of the cave. She could not ignore a possible threat and Lorne still slept.

Chills rippled over her skin, and not from the cool air. “I’m strong. It’s sensible to know what dangers we face.” Andra ran miles every day up and down the hills in San Francisco. She had studied self-defense. If nothing else, she needed to consider reinforcing the brush concealing the cave’s entrance.

A path of sorts, most likely a deer trail, wound up the hill. She decided to follow it. After tying her long skirt into a knot high on her hip, she stretched out her long, legging-covered limbs and moved into an easy slow gait, taking as much care as possible not to trip.

The sky turned from a shade of dark slate to a deep grayish-purple, then dusty gray. Her vision grew accustomed to the faint light. The smell of fire grew stronger the farther she ran into the woods until the air hung heavy with smoke. Stretching her gait, she increased her speed. The old, familiar burn of a good run seared her legs. Something wild and frightening coiled in her gut, but she could not escape the urgent need to run faster and faster. Eventually plumes of dark smoke billowed over the hill ahead. Keeping the upper part of the ridge to her left, she skirted around trees, and through brambles and tangled underbrush that scratched at her limbs.

When Kendrick had departed last night, she was certain he went in the opposite direction, so she didn’t think he would be at the end of her mad rush. Something beyond reason drove her on.

Alert to every sound—the pounding of her feet on the soft earth, the late or early movement of wildlife scattering in the undergrowth away from the fire, the sudden cessation of birdsong—all penetrated her awareness with a cloying dread. Then the sound of people struggling and the anguished cries of fear assaulted her. She worked her way through thick brush to the top of the hill and peered down on an unholy horror. Covering her mouth, she choked back the scream that almost escaped her throat.

Flames engulfed several small crofts and the surrounding fields. The dying shrieks from inside the walls of the burning cottages tore the air and mingled with the moans from those fallen outside. Everywhere she looked lay mangled bodies. A company of English militia and a few men wearing dark, Scottish plaids were viciously murdering the people who struggled to crawl away. A couple of men dragged the limp form of a woman tearing away her clothes.

Andra’s knees buckled as she ducked down and slunk behind a tree. Bile rose in her throat. The metallic taste of blood flowed over her tongue from biting hard on knuckles jammed in her mouth to prevent a terrified scream from escaping.

Andra turned away from the hell below. About to flee, a movement in the trees caught her eye. Two children ran for cover through thick brush and the shelter of darker forest. She ran after them, hoping to help them hide or escape. Her speed and long stride brought her beside them quickly. They opened their mouths to scream, but only the shrieks of the dying filled her ears. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest until she thought it might explode. Gulping deep breaths of choking air, she realized it would be foolish to speak. The children might think she was with the English who were destroying their homes.

She raised her hand to her lips and whispered, “Shushshsh,” pointing in the direction from where they had fled. Then she pointed in the direction she had come from and motioned they should go that way. A girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age clung desperately to the hand of a small boy about four years old. The girl’s eyes were wide with terror, her lips trembled, and the boy at her side started to whimper.

Andra shushed them again and lifted the lad to her chest, patting his back. His small arms instantly gripped her neck and he hid his face on her shoulder. She tucked his legs around her waist, then grabbed the girl’s hand and ran as fast as possible, dragging the girl with her.

Never had she run so fast yet felt so slow. How many miles had she run before reaching this nightmarish scene, seven, eight, maybe more—bringing those murderous bastards far too close to their hideout. She ran and ran until she could run no farther then stopped, sucking great gulps of air. She looked behind praying no one followed them.

She could hear the pounding of horses’ hooves but the sound came from in front of them rather than from behind. Had the murderers managed to get ahead of them as they ran? She whipped her head in every direction searching for an escape when strong arms lifted her onto a horse. She dropped the young girl’s hand but managed to hold onto the boy clutched to her chest when Kendrick’s voice penetrated her terror.

“Be still, you foolish woman, and hold your
wheesht
.” He said something to the boy in Gaelic she did not understand, but it stilled him in her arms. Through her hazed and scrambled brain, she recognized Struan as the other rider. He firmly held the young girl in his lap. Kendrick’s arm crushed across her and the boy as she struggled to get air into her lungs. They rode over the hill away from the direction of the cave and the mayhem behind them and into a thicker forest of trees.

They traveled many miles further than she had run. The men maneuvered the horses along a torturous route winding through a steep valley thick with mist, crossing several small streams until they turned up another steep incline. At the hill’s summit, the fog dissipated to reveal a rider on his horse.

Rabbie walked his mount toward them. He circled to their rear and swept away their tracks using long lengths of brush and tree branches attached to the back of his horse. Soon, they were once again skirting the rocky scrabble leading up to the cave. All sense of time and direction had slipped away. No one had spoken a single word. A rumble of thunder and foreboding dark clouds moved fast in their direction, promising another storm would soon reach them. At least a good rain might wash away any trace of their passing. When they entered the cave, Struan set the girl aside and pulled clumps of brush and trees across the entrance.

Rabbie dismounted swiftly and removed the boy from Andra’s arms, whispering soothing Gaelic in his ear. Kendrick swung down and pulled Andra after him. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly and he shook her brutally. His eyes glowed with heat and anger. A rigid band of sinew clenched with tension along his jaw.

“Are you mad, woman? I leave you with precise instructions to stay in the cave and care for Lorne. And what do you do? You abandon my brother, tear off into the night, and nearly bring yourself into the hands of our enemies.”

He shook her forcefully again, “Are you one of them, then. Do you seek to bring them to our hiding place and have us murdered?”

She sputtered, then tightened her mouth and hardened her glare. With a quick thrust of her arms, she tried to break his hold, but he anticipated her maneuver this time. At the same moment she raised her arms, he flung her back with such force she flew like a leaf and landed hard on her rump. The children were huddled beside her like frightened, weeping kittens burrowing against the wall.

Jumping off the ground with a need to vent her terror and frustration, she ran at him flailing balled fists against his chest. “You stupid–boorish–brutal–bastard” with each word she hit him again and screamed in his face. Everyone and everything else faded away. Just the two of them remained, facing off in heat and fury.

* * *

Kendrick gripped her upper arms, expecting her to quiet. Instead, she moved into him and once again tried to flip her leg behind his. Needing to get her under control before he lost all semblance of rational thought, he lifted her off the ground, her arms pinned to her sides. She kicked at his groin and missed her mark, landing a booted foot on his unyielding thigh. Despite her struggles, she was no match for his strength. He easily spun her around as if she were only a stick. He tightly wrapped his forearm under her breast, and he pulled her roughly to his chest. He yelled at Rabbie to bring a rope and gag. Andra struggled fiercely, and managed to release one hand, which she used to claw and scratch at his arms. She continued kicking against his legs, landing a few blows that would undoubtedly leave bruises. When she started to shriek, he placed one hand over her nose and mouth. After a few tense moments, her movements slowed and she passed out.

Rabbie came toward Kendrick, his hands palm up in front of him as if calming a wild horse. “What possesses you, cousin? Hand me the lass.”

Kendrick’s breathing came rough and hoarse through his throat as he stared at his friend. His jaw ached with tension; his mouth clamped tight enough to break teeth.

What was wrong with him?
He never lost control, not even in the heat of battle with men raging in full combat. Kendrick did not permit himself to experience fear, not for himself, his men, not even the people in his care. He had schooled long and hard to bury that emotion behind the skill and experience gained in many battles.

He had allowed fear to grip him twice before, once in his first battle. It had cost the lives of a few good men and friends. The second time happened shortly after he had assumed the role of laird. His father’s illness prevented him from continuing in that role and he seemed ready to relinquish the responsibilities to his eldest son.

Kendrick always knew he would eventually bear that mantle. Unfortunately, many calamities befell him in those early years as laird. The clan suffered significant financial losses from the Darien Scheme, which sought to establish a Scottish colony in Panama. Kendrick had been the one to suggest they invest their reserves in that scheme, even before he’d become laird. There had been poor crop returns for several years, causing food shortages throughout the land. In addition, within a few months of becoming laird, Kendrick’s young wife and son died following the bairn’s birth. After that event, overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy, he seemed to lose his mind for a period.

For weeks at a time, he had rambled through the hills, drinking to excess, and wenching when the opportunity presented itself. No matter how far he roamed, he never found the oblivion he sought, or a release from his sense of failure. Reivers attacked the borders of his lands, stealing cattle the clan could ill afford to lose. Men were injured or lost, perhaps due to the lack of his direction and leadership.

His father had tried to manage in his absence, but his health deteriorated even further, and Lorne had not yet returned from university. He had been of little use to himself, much less to his clan and kin. Finally, Rabbie and Struan found him in the hills and engaged him in fierce hand-to-hand beatings. He withstood the worst of their lashings, and they refused to leave him alone. Either he would return to his home, clan, and responsibilities, or they swore to surrender their own lives in their effort to bring him to heel.

Fear and love. Two emotions no warrior could allow to reign; a lesson Kendrick took to heart once he had recovered his sense of self. From then on, he determined never to allow himself to succumb to the weakening sentiments of fear or love again. He had long buried his heart and emotions behind steel barriers.

Yet, when they had returned and discovered Andra gone, his anger burned like a hot brand in his gut. The crazy, mad woman, who seemed to fall out of the sky into their path, tested every reserve of patience he possessed. Intriguing, secretive, maddeningly obtuse, she definitely fired his loins, which disturbed him no end. He strived to convince himself the woman presented nothing more than a troubling puzzle to solve, but he failed.