Finding My Highlander (7 page)

When he’d raced over that hill, nostrils burning with the smell of fire, the sound of battle-crazed men in the distance, the screams of women rending the early dawn air, fear had gripped him like a vice. Then he saw her, head snapping around wildly in the smoky half-light, hair flying out in a tangled mess, with two children clinging to her limbs. He could have wept with relief and he never wept.

“Laird?” Rabbie moved to take Andra and softened his voice, “Laird?”

Rabbie never addressed him by the honorific title “laird” unless upset with him or trying to prove a point. Rabbie was Kendrick’s second cousin from his father’s side but as close to him as he and his brother Lorne. In fact, no one came closer in friendship and esteem, with Struan a close third.

Kendrick swung Andra into his arms pressing her limp body against his chest. “Nae cousin, nae, I’ll tend to her myself. You see to the bairns and have Struan tend the horses.”

He could feel their astonished faces follow him as he walked to the pool at the back of the cave. He sat on the edge of the rocks thinking how only a day ago she had been standing in this exact spot disrobing in front of him, enticing him with her every move. He ripped a piece of cloth off the bottom of his shirt and wiped her face with cool water. When she started to come around, she struggled against him. He held both wrists in one hand and pulled her tight against him.

“Calm yourself, lass; it’s over now, you’re safe.” He kept his voice soothing and low.

Eyes venomous with anger glared at him. “Safe! Safe! Safe from whom? Safe from those murdering men, safe from you?” she spit out.

Grinding his teeth, the muscles in his jaw grew almost painful as he reined in his temper. He battled between the urge to throttle her or pull her into a fierce, protective embrace. Throttle won or at least a verbal throttling.

“Listen, Andra, and listen well. I am not a violent man unless necessary, but those are my men. I am their laird. They must trust me to lead them into battle, through the verra gates of hell when required. I will not allow any lass, no matter how comely or distressed she appears, to interfere with my authority or the safety my men.”

Her mouth dropped open. Did she find him shocking?
Good
.
She needed a shock.

“I expect absolute obedience from my people and my men. Do not disobey me again. And never attempt to knock me down or strike me for you will not win and only injure yourself. I gave you my word we’d protect you despite the fact that your story reeks of perfidy. You will not be endangering everyone with your foolish recklessness. When I give you an order, you will follow it.”

She blinked at him her mouth agape. “I am not your property, nor one of your men to jump and obey your every command!” she seethed through her teeth, tugging valiantly against his grip.

“Now there you’re wrong, Andra. You are my property until I say otherwise. If you dinnae start answering my questions, or you run off again, I will tie you up until we reach my castle. If you give me your word, which I am not sure is worth anything, I will refrain from tying you up tonight. Those poor bairns have just witnessed the murder of their kith and kin. They could use a woman’s gentling.” His arms tightened around her rather than loosened.

She flashed a furious scowl at him. “What the hell do you think happened here? I woke, I smelled smoke, and no one was here. It seemed reasonable to investigate. And those bairns might not have escaped without my help.”

They locked eyes in another silent battle of wills. She blinked up at him, her body still shaking under his grip, but rather than show deference, she kept her chin thrust in defiance. He could see he’d accomplish nothing further tonight and needed to step away from her heat and his own intemperate mood. He stood, gently but firmly set her on her feet, and strolled over to his men.

* * *

Well, it would seem this fight was over. Andra didn’t know whether to cry or kick the man in his finely muscled, departing derriere. “Urrr, men!” she hissed.

But his words slipped back into her head: “
I will not allow a lass, no matter how comely…”
So, he thought her comely—distressed (which was true), and accused her of duplicity all in one breath. Okay, she’d grant he thought her duplicitous or evasive, but she struggled with a problem he couldn’t even fathom. Adrenaline still pumped through her blood from fear, exhaustion, and a weird exhilaration from the feel of his strong arms around her.
Well, that would never do.

She stamped her foot, and with stumbling steps walked to where Rabbie sat on a pallet by the fire, giving the children something to drink. A tartan plaid draped across their small shoulders, and he spoke to them in soothing tones.

He looked up with a crooked half smile. “Are you well m’lady?”

She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “Well enough. How are the children?”

“Frightened, but calming down. You did a brave thing helping them to escape.”

“Some people don’t share your opinion.” She dipped her chin toward the bairns, “Do they speak English?”

“Dinnae worry, they will understand you, but they are reluctant to speak.” He nodded his head, and walked to join the men seated beside Lorne, talking in low voices.

Andra sat and wiped the children’s faces with a cool, wet cloth. She held out her arms to the lad, and he went to her easily. The boy still whimpered a bit, and the girl stared off into space, her face a frozen mask. Andra cradled the lad’s head against her chest, wrapped the other arm around the girl, and began to sing “All The Pretty Little Horses.”

The men were a wall of silence behind her, even their movements had ceased. Andra blocked them from her mind and finished the song while rocking the children held in her arms. Her eyes closed, and tears streamed down her face. She sought to erase the horrors of this night and guide them all to restful sleep with the soothing melody.

Chapter Nine

Andra woke with a start to sounds of movement in the cave. Each time she woke, she experienced a moment where she thought everything had been a terrible, dreadful dream. Then reality smashed a fist into her consciousness; she remained in another time and place. The realization came in the form of children snuggled close against her. The girl’s hand draped protectively on the boy’s back. Trying not to disturb their sleep, she moved away slowly.

As she walked toward the exit, Lorne entered the cave, one arm across Struan’s shoulder with Struan’s burly strength supporting his weight. He walked with agonizingly slow steps, but at least he walked.

Outside the sky remained dark. A faint tinge of violet suggested the approach of dawn. When she started to pass the men, Struan grunted and stopped her.

“Where do you think you be go’n?”

A frustrated groan escaped her lips. “A moment of privacy is all I need.”

“Then I’ll be accompanying you. Just let me settle Lorne.” His voice commanding and rough, as though he’d swallowed a mouth full of gravel.

“Dinnae scare the lass with all that bluster.” Lorne looked at Andra, a smile on his face. “Best let him stand guard, there’s nae tell’en who may be aboot. Besides, Struan is a wee bit cranky in the morning.”

“Seems to me he’s always cranky,” Andra huffed, but she waited for him by the cave’s entrance.

* * *

Kendrick and Rabbie were not present. Andra decided not to inquire after them and busied herself with the care of the children. Relinquishing a pack of her strong breakfast tea and another packet of honey, which she opened away from prying eyes, she prepared to break their fast. Everyone enjoyed the honeyed tea, even Lorne and Struan, who took theirs with a dram or two of whisky.

“Well now, finally something worthwhile from that there witch’s satchel of yers,” Struan commented. Though he goaded her with a slight hint of humor, an accusatory expression remained on his face. A retort rose to her lips, but then she thought it best to avoid confrontation and ignored him.

The children still wore their dirty, torn night shifts, were barefooted and covered in cuts and scratches from their escape through the night. Andra convinced them to relinquish their clothes for washing in exchange for warm plaids.

After she had thoroughly examined and cleaned their injuries, Andra’s last two pairs of clean, dry socks adorned their feet. “What dae ye call these again?” asked Kyle, an amber-eyed, freckle faced charmer with hair the color of autumn leaves. He wriggled his toes, endlessly fascinated with the snugness of the socks several sizes too large, but they kept his feet warm and dry.

“They are called socks where I come from.”

The boy assessed her with a frown on his forehead. “Ye say yer nae a Sassenach but ye talk funny, like a Sassenach but nae the same.”

“Oh, have you talked to many Sassenachs, then?” she chided him lightly.

“Nae, but ye dinnae speak like a proper Scots lady.” He sighed, looking at her with penetrating eyes for one so young.

“Well, I am Scots through and through, though I have been away for a verra long time. I haven’t been in Scotland since I was a verra wee bairn and have nae memory of it.” Andra added a few Scottish terms to put the children at ease.

The girl, Senga, slender and quiet, with hair the same rich color as her brother’s and eyes like dark, round chocolate drops, had not said a word to her. Andra worried about Senga’s silence, but she would not push her to speak before she was ready.

The children were both far too thin with dark circles under haunted eyes. Wherever Andra went, Senga meekly followed head down, arms limp at her sides, but she would not speak or look directly at anyone other than her brother.

Once thoroughly washed, the many cuts and scratches tended, with warm socks on her feet and one of Andra’s long knit shirts pulled over the girl’s slender frame, Andra wrapped her in a warm dry plaid and sat her between her knees. Brandishing her horsehair brush, she untangled the girl’s long tresses with smooth, even strokes. It was a soothing task, one Andra could barely remember between herself and her mother.

“How old are you, Kyle?” Andra asked.

“I be five years. And me sister be ten and four. Me older brathair died,” he puffed out his cheeks and expelled a sad, little sigh.

Humming a soothing lullaby, Andra brushed Senga’s hair while Kyle leaned against her side rubbing his little fingers over the smooth leather of her vest. Every so often, the boy hummed along with her, hopelessly out of tune…His voice halted every few bars with soft sighs. She plaited the girl’s hair into a long French braid and tied off the bottom with a thin strip of linen formed into a bow.

“Well now, aren’t you the most beautiful, young lass in all of Scotland?” The praise elicited a dip of the girl’s chin. If it dropped any further, her neck would snap at the back. Gliding her fingers along the girl’s hair, she wanted so much to pull her into an embrace, but the child would not welcome it. “I’m here if you want to talk with me,” she whispered.

She had never been around children so quiet. The grievous shock they had suffered would scar any child and silence many for life. A pain pierced her heart. Her ministrations aroused an ache, never far from the surface, for her own lost child whom she had held for only a few hours before he died. Even now, she could still feel his slight weight absent from her ever-empty arms. When the children went to explore the waterfall and pools, Andra turned to attend Lorne’s injuries.

“You have a way with the bairns. Do you have any of your own?” he asked.

Instinctively her hand pressed against her lower abdomen.

“ ‘Tis a painful memory that presses on you?” He placed a hand gently over the hand she rested on her thigh.

A wrenching recollection moved her to change the subject. “Do you think they have other family who will care for them? I wish I could assure them everything will be well in time.” She truly ached to snuggle these babes and give them assurance, but she knew the history of this time. Nothing would ever be easy or all right if the children were now orphans. Yet, if they had kin somewhere, surely they would offer care and shelter. Her father had always regaled her with stories of the Highlanders’ honor and love of family.

She lifted her eyes to Lorne’s, “I must seem very foolish.” In that moment, she knew she would do everything in her power to help them locate any remaining family. There had to be something she could do for them before she found a way to return to her own time.

“Dinnae fash yourself. Highlanders will not abandon bairns to the elements. If no kin are found, our clan will provide for them.”

Chapter Ten

After carefully searching the area around the sight of the previous night’s butchery, Kendrick and Rabbie set about burying the dead. Nothing remained in the crofts to salvage for the children. The burned ruins of three small crofts and a byre held nothing of value. A few scattered, tools rusted and dented by age and use, proved useful for digging the graves. Vermin still ravaged the slaughtered remains of a few. If there had been other survivors, human or animal, no evidence existed. They found a scrap of Cameron plaid clutched in a dead woman’s hand. They both growled in their throats and cursed the bastards and all the Sassenach who raped and pillaged their land.

Under a cerulean sky mounded with frothy clouds, they worked with quick efficiency. The English could be anywhere nearby and discovery would not bode well for them. Nevertheless, the dead needed burying and words spoken over their remains. Despite a slight chill in the air, sweat dripped from their chests and arms.

Kendrick’s thoughts kept returning to the previous night and the image of Andra rocking the bairns and singing that haunting song. Her clear, sweet voice still rang in his head. No matter how hard he tried to close himself off from his attraction to her, the woman seeped into every fiber of his being. Every maddening, irritating, or generous thing she did unfurled another thread of mystery and wove straight into his long-cold heart.

She claimed her name was Cameron but insisted she did not know her clan. Could this be true or had she rescued the children over shame for the brutality of her clansmen? He did not want to believe a connection existed between her and Cormag Cameron or anyone associated with him.

“What do you think of the lass, Rabbie? Do you think there’s a connection between her and our enemies? Perhaps she is trying to escape them.”

Rabbie wiped sweat from his forehead and remained thoughtful for a moment. “She is a conundrum to be certain. While she’s reluctant to answer your questions, she tries to help where she can. Her clothing is unusual and her jewelry expensive. The lass has been kind, thoughtful, reserved, and at times outlandishly amusing. She has more than a little fire in her, and I’ve never heard a sweeter voice. She could make the angels weep.

“I am inclined to believe she speaks the truth and doesnae ken her Scottish clan, which I agree, is quite peculiar. The fact that she speaks but a few words of her native tongue is the most troubling thing to me.”

Rabbie glanced at his cousin, whose gaze scanned to the heavens. “Do you think to divine the answers from the sky, then? She is comely to be sure. You better be careful. I think she has caught you in her web.” He chuckled, an attempt to add a bit of levity to an otherwise onerous day.

Kendrick harrumphed in response and applied himself to their task more rigorously. He could not explain the feelings exploding in his chest to himself, much less to anyone else. He admired the amazing gentleness Andra had displayed with the children, and when she sang to them, a hard lump had formed in his throat. In all his travels, he had never heard a song like the one she’d sung last night.

On their return trip to the hideout, they dipped into a nearby loch to wash the burnt stench from their clothes and noses. Kendrick ran his hands through his wet hair. “At least we can have some meat tonight. I’m near famished.” A few squirrels and rabbits retrieved from Rabbie’s snares hung from their saddles.

“My stomach growls louder than a wildcat.” Rabbie chuckled, and then grew serious. “What are we going to do about the Cameron menace?”

Kendrick abhorred the idea of starting a clan war over the loathsome Camerons. There had been more than enough strife to beleaguer the clans. Constant skirmishes with the Sassenachs and the border clans who sought alliances with them kept everyone on edge. Many Highland clans hovered on the brink of starvation.

“I’m not exactly certain. Though I’m not in favor of taxing our people further, we must find a way to settle this matter with Cormag and his clan for the last time. If he seeks war, he will soon find it. I plan to discuss it with father and meet with our allied clans as soon as possible.”

“Aye, there has been much to beleaguer us; not to mention the loss of wealth in the failed Darien Scheme. It was good you stayed away from that misadventure.”

“I lost my share, cousin, but there’s no sense worrying over the past. There’s more than enough trouble brewing. Especially now that Queen Anne has passed the Alien Act, one more blow preventing our ability to trade with the southlands, the French, or the colonies. There’s plenty of talk about bringing back the Prince. Yet other clans grow weary and consider a union with England the only solution.”

Kendrick grew silent and stared toward their destination.

“You’re thinking about her, I can tell. It appears a pretty, green-eyed lass has kindled her own sort of trouble with you.”

“Leave it be, Rabbie.” Thoughts of her consumed him, but he certainly wouldn’t admit his growing obsession, nor would he discuss the matter with his cousin.

* * *

Andra was tucking the children under their blankets when Kendrick and Rabbie entered the cave. She acknowledged their entrance with a brief glance over her shoulder. Rabbie flashed a brilliant smile at her, which she returned. A stab of jealousy hit Kendrick and he shot her an angry scowl. She blithely ignored him, turned away, straightened her back, and rested her pert, little butt on her heels. One minute in her presence and she already attracted and irritated him. It felt like a sharp barb had lodged in his brain.

Senga reached out and tentatively touched a finger to Andra’s hand. “What is it you need, Senga?” The girl turned her face away.

Kyle answered. “Will ye sing for us, Lady Andra?”

Kendrick noticed all the men turned toward the little group when Kyle made his request. Andra bent forward, kissed the wee ones’ cheeks, and sang. When the words,
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me,”
rang out everything hushed but her crisp soprano voice, which seemed to bind their souls in a song-like prayer both tender and profound. When the verse, “‘
Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home
,” something hard knocked in his chest. Kendrick noticed the other men dip their chins, and clasp their hands in front of their bodies in a pose of suspended reverence.

As the last note reverberated through the cave, she kissed the children, snugly tucked them into the plaids and whispered, “Good night, sweet lambs.”

Andra appeared to collapse into herself and struggle for breath. When she turned toward them, her face twisted in anguish and her eyes glistened with moisture. Tears spilled over the rim of her lashes and streaked down her face. Bunching her skirt in her hands, she darted into the night. No one stopped her. The men looked away from each other as though embarrassed or confused over what to do.

After a moment of hesitation, Kendrick followed her outside but stayed back a few feet, uncertain how to approach. A terrible torment seemed to possess the lass. She shook with pitiful, wrenching sobs and pounded the ground with her fists crying out to her father. “Please Dad, please, please, send me back home. Oh God, how can I survive here?”

What could she possibly mean by those words? It didn’t matter; he would untangle her words later. For now, an overwhelming urge to wrap her in his arms swamped him. He felt an urgent need to protect and shelter her from whatever caused such searing pain. It took every ounce of reserve he possessed to permit her this release without interference. The brave, obstinate, defiant lass she’d seemed up until this moment bled into the ground along with her tears. He could not leave her in this disheveled heap, sobbing into the dirt.

Approaching cautiously, he knelt and touched her shoulder. “Lass?” She flinched but did not pull away. After a few moments of hitching sobs, she turned into his arms and clung to his neck. She cupped his stubbled cheek with a cool hand and pressed her face into his shoulder.

He wiped her tear-stained face with his thumbs, and brushed back silky strands of hair that always managed to escape her braid. Resistance was impossible. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her eyes; he tasted the salt on her cheeks and lips. Gently at first and then with riveting passion they pressed into each other, grasping, claiming. His desire for her penetrated his bones straight to the marrow.

With eyes wide open, she searched his face, perhaps seeking words he knew not how to give. With an expression full of aching need, she lifted her lips to his and granted him a quenching kiss. Never separating from his mouth, she pulled him beside her onto a bed of pine needles and fallen leaves.

“A stór, you taste sweet and salty.” Kendrick suckled her lower lip, invaded her mouth with his tongue.

She matched him stroke for stroke. His hands traced the line of her neck, across her chest, along her ribs, squeezing at the curve of her waist. She turned into him more fully. He continued his exploration along the full roundness of her hip and tight buttocks. Her hands moved across his arms, shoulders, up his neck and tangled into his hair.

Some part of his thoughts screamed,
“This is not right. You should not compromise her in this vulnerable state.”
Nevertheless, he wanted her, craved her touch, and needed her passion as much as she needed his. Ignoring the reservations tugging at his conscience, he ravished her mouth and slipped his hand under her shirt to cup her breast. A breast holstered in the same silky contraption she had worn by the pool. He remembered the pink blush of color that almost matched the flush on her milky skin. His thumb circled over the puckered bead under the silken fabric. She moaned and lifted fully into his palm.

Pulling his shirt out of his plaid, she slid soft cool hands over his abdomen. Long, slender fingers raked through the wiry hair on his chest then followed the thin line that continued down past his belly. She stopped just past his waist and sat up to wriggle out of her vest. They spoke no words, each pulsing with intense need.

He helped pull her shirt over her head. Even in the dim light, her skin glowed like polished pearls. He pressed his lips to her neck, nipping and drawing kisses down her chest and took the tip of her breast, silk material and all, into his mouth. Her hands reached behind her back to unfasten her silky undergarment. She pushed him away and let her full breasts spill out.

“I rather enjoyed the feel of you through that silken holster.” But the heat of her unadorned, rosy flesh was far more enticing.

“Shush,” she quieted him. Unpinning his plaid, she pulled his shirt over his shoulders, fumbled with his belt to release his kilt, sporran, and the dirk strapped there.

Kendrick briefly held her apart from him. He was no monster to take advantage of her in a moment of extreme distress. “
Mo chuisle
, I burn for you, I do, but I will stop if you wish it. Just say the word. Are you certain you want to continue?”

Every fiber of his being wanted to claim her completely, wanted to plunge into her soft, heated folds and drown in the taste and smell of her. In spite of this urgent need, he held still, waiting for a response. He needed her acceptance.

Her voice was a husky whisper as she placed trembling fingers to his face. “This is so…unlike me. It has been a very long time since—,” she continued to feather sweet kisses over his face and neck as she spoke and he could barely concentrate on her words. “I do not want to question it. All I know is what I feel. I want…” She faltered, and then laved her tongue along his neck and whispered, “I want this moment, this fire exploding between us. This madness is the only real thing worth having in a crazy, unreal world.”

She nipped his earlobe sending a bolt straight to his loins where he hardened and thickened with need. Then she stood to pull off her skirt and those tantalizingly tight fitting trews. His hands cupped her breasts, then followed the descent of her clothes over full hips and down strong, firm legs, helping to push them away from her feet.

He tugged his plaid under them to serve as their bed. She stood before him naked, shivering, yet her flesh felt hot under his hands. Her fingers snaked through his hair while his rough hands rubbed over her taut buttock. One hand slipped across her hip and traced a finger along what appeared to be a long scar on her abdomen.

“How did you receive this injury, lass?” It was a significant scar; he wondered how she’d survived such a wound. When he opened his mouth to speak again, she touched her fingers to his lips to quell his questions. He pressed his face against her belly, kissing and nipping along the pink ridge. His hand slipped high between her thighs and a finger delved into her moist heat. His thumb rolled over her pleasure bud eliciting a throaty gasp from her lips.

Andra closed her eyes and lifted her knee to his shoulder, granting him access to her sensuous core. Piercing him with a look of pure need, she leaned against his hand supporting her lower back and buttocks, and flung her head back. He kissed and bit her inner thigh, flicked his tongue through her slit and tugged on her pearled nub. She moaned, gasped, and pulled his hair as he brought her to a crescendo of passion with his mouth.

The explosion caused her to vibrate in his hands, and he waited a moment for her to recover. He pressed his face against her warm belly and then pulled her down, under his body. Holding himself over her, his turgid shaft pressed against her wet entrance, he asked one last time, “You want me, Andra? Say it.”