Healing the Highlander (27 page)

TWENTY-
EIGHT

A stray moonbeam washed across the floor. It shone through the shutters Leah had neglected to close against the night. She watched unmoving as it slowly crept closer to where she sat.

Sooner or later, she'd need to get up off her miserable butt and get started if she were really going to do this thing.

"Sooner," she whispered, the sound seeming to echo off the walls of her empty room.

Drew hadn't returned after their fight. Not that she expected he would. Not that she wanted him to. It would be more than fine with her if she never saw the sneaky, selfish bastard, again as long as she lived.

Now if she could just get to a point where the thought of never seeing him again didn't hurt more than the knowledge that he was a sneaky, selfish bastard, she'd be just fine.

"I'll be fine anyway. I don't need him."

She would be. It wasn't like she didn't have a purpose to keep her going. Hugh and Margery were depending on her. She might have been sidetracked for a bit, but she was back on the job now. They needed her help and she wouldn't fail them, no matter what it might cost her.

With the MacKiernan laird's refusal to send men to the aid of MacQuarrie Keep, their rescue fell squarely on her shoulders. She'd had the whole of the evening to think on what she could do and though her plan was little more than a half-jelled worm of a thing, it was the best she could come up with on her own.

She pushed to her feet, then crossed to the bed and picked up the small bundle she'd prepared earlier. It consisted of the things she'd originally brought with her, along with the rolls, meat, and cheese the cook had sent up for her and Drew to share for their evening meal.

He could damn well find his own food or do without, for all she cared. She would need this.

Since her cloak had been lost, she decided taking one of his plaids would be no great loss. She'd figure out a way to return it later, just as Drew had returned the horse he'd borrowed from the priory. What was good for him was good for her. Granted, he'd asked permission, but it wasn't like that was an option available to her.

Oh, by the way, I've decided to go back to MacQuarrie Keep to offer myself in marriage to Lord Moreland in exchange for control of the keep being returned to Grandpa Hugh.

Yeah. That was likely to go over well with this crowd.

Likely they'd get all raffled up about the fact that she was already married.

A minor detail she wasn't going to let ruin her plan, such as it was.

It wasn't like anyone had a really efficient way to look things up. Lord Moreland would drag her back to England, so it wasn't as if she'd ever ran into any of these MacKiernans. And if she eventually had to face Sir Peter again? It should be easy enough to convince him she'd obtained the annulment she had wanted.

Not a perfect plan by any means. She'd still end up getting used.

But it would be at her choice. Her choice. Something she'd willingly offer up to save Grandpa Hugh and Grandma Mac, not something someone had forced her into doing. Or worse, tricked her into doing.

Her breath caught in her throat and she clenched her teeth until she thought they might crack.

She was done with tears. Done. And even if she wasn't, she wouldn't spill another single drop over Drew MacAlister.

Stepping into the darkened hallway, she pulled the door quietly shut behind her.

Her plan would work. It had to. It was all she had left.

The only thing that could hold her back was if she couldn't find that hole under the bathhouse Ellie had spoken of in the story she'd told at the wedding feast.

Accuse him of lying, would she? What about Iter? It was she who'd refused all along to even admit she had the power to heal.

Drew felt beside him in the dark, dragging his hand through the hay littering the stable floor for the flask of whisky he'd taken from Blane's solar.

And what kind of a wife would refuse to heal her own husband? The man she'd vowed before God and everyone to honor for all her days.

He should put it out of his mind and end the pain but he couldn't. Instead he dredged up every memory of every conversation he'd had with Leah, every moment he'd spent in her presence, every touch, every word, much as a child might pick at a scab on his knee.

Tipping back his head, he drained the last drop of amber liquid from the flask.

Too bad it would do no more than slake his thirst.

"Damned Faerie blood."

What he needed was a good blanketing of his mind. He wanted to be so arse-faced he'd not be able to find a coherent thought with both hands.

Because the coherent thoughts he was finding at the moment were not his friends. And no matter how he might attempt to skew them, they didn't point to his being the good guy here.

Deny as he might, he had lied. To Leah and to himself. Not about the healing. He wouldn't deny he still wanted that from her.

No, his lie went much deeper.

Last night she'd asked if he'd loved her. She'd wanted to know, as any with Fae blood might, if she'd tied herself to her Soulmate.

And him, like the lying coward he was, he'd used every excuse he could find to avoid the obvious answer.

It couldn't be true or he never would have let Blane come to any decision other than the one she wanted, not without a good fight.

It couldn't be true because.

"Because, because, because," he whispered. Because why? Because it terrified the hell out of him, that's why.

How could he claim his one true love, his Soulmate, when he was but half a man? When he feared one day the pain would send him to his bed and he wouldn't get up again? When he feared any woman he loved would be forced to spend her days nursing him as she might an overgrown babe.

He'd lied to them both because it frightened him too much to tell the truth. Because he wasn't man enough to tell the truth.

He loved her. She was his Soulmate.

And it was naught more than foolish pride and hurt feelings that kept them both from embracing that truth.

First thing tomorrow morning, he'd march into the keep and up to their room and tell her so. Come tomorrow, the worries that plagued him now would be but a memory.

Exactly as Ellie had described, the tunnel was there.

Leah crawled out from under the bathhouse and looked down the slope. Not much light to travel by, but it was good enough. If she put a serious foot to it, she could be well away from Dun Ard by morning.

She more or less remembered the map Mairi had drawn for her; she only had to backtrack to the beginning. It helped that this time she didn't need to worry about avoiding roads. Sir Peter and his men had gone on to search out the rebels they hunted, so he was no longer a problem.

And if her uncle had sent more men to search for her? That wouldn't be a problem either since their intent would be to take her back to MacQuarrie Keep and that was exactly where she wanted to go.

She was on her way. Nothing would stop her now.

"You're certain it was her?"

Peter Moreland slapped his glove against the mail covering his leg. What the hell could she be up to?

"Yes, sir. I watched from the trees as she scrambled down the hillside and headed onto the road."

Withdrawing his men had simply been a ploy to allow those inside Dun Ard to make their next move. He'd stationed men all around the perimeter of the castle to watch for anything unusual until such time as he could lay his hands on Leah MacQuarrie.

"She's headed south, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

Was it possible she thought to return home?

"Saddle the men up. We'll find her and follow along to give her time to distance herself from Dun Ard before we take her. No point to provoke a battle we've no time for."

Not that his men weren't more than a match for the pitiful Scots he'd met at Dun Ard. Oh, there were a few who had worthy skills, but his men were well trained to take them first.

And why risk his men when the prize he sought was his for the taking with only the smallest exercise of patience?

He was a man who understood the virtue and the rewards of patience well. He'd had years to practice the art.

Leah MacQuarrie would be his by noon tomorrow and he'd be that much closer in his campaign to become the next Lord Moreland.

TWENTY-NINE

Leah dipped her hand into the shallow water, bringing it up to her dry lips. She'd gone out of her way to find a safe spot exactly like this. No deep running water for her this time. She was taking no chances.

Drowning wouldn't do much to help Grandpa Hugh. Assuming she was still in time to save him, that is.

Her thirst quenched, she crawled back from the water's edge to the tree where she'd left her bundle. After the hike she'd had, that bread and cheese was calling her name.

Two bites later, she could deny no more that exhaustion was as much her enemy as hunger. Though it might have been smarter to have made her escape after a good night's sleep, her chances of getting out in the daylight would have been next to nonexistent.

Still, traveling at night was just plain stupid. If she kept that up, she'd end up so lost she'd never find her way to MacQuarrie Keep. She had to be smart about this. What she needed to do was get herself straightened out. Just keep moving through today and then she could have herself a good rest tonight, waking up fresh to start off tomorrow.

She could do that. It would only be staying awake for something like, what? Thirty-six hours, maybe? She could do that.

Like hell she could.

Her legs felt like wet noodles already. She had to be smart, yes, but she had to be reasonable, too. A short rest here, maybe an hour or two, and then she'd be on her way. Just a short nap and she'd be good to go.

Her eyes had barely closed when somewhere out in the surrounding forest, she heard a crackle, like a stick breaking.

Oh, that was just dandy. She searched her memory for any mention her grandpa Hugh had ever made about wild animals. She felt pretty safe ruling out lions, tigers, and bears, but that still left more than enough to worry about.

She pulled the stone hanging at her neck outside her shift, running her thumb over it for comfort. Wolves, maybe? Or wild boar?

Dropping the stone, she rummaged in the pocket hanging from her belt and pulled out the little dirk Maisey had given her and held it up in front of her.

Might not stop a full-grown animal, but that animal would soon find out it hadn't gotten hold of something completely defenseless if it attacked.

She leaned her head back against the tree, knowing as soon as she closed her eyes she wouldn't be able to sleep. Not now that she'd gotten her imagination all worked up.

Rest, then. Just until she felt she could get back up and start moving again.

Another noise and she her eyes flew open in time to have a stray whiff of wind blow her hair across them, blocking her vision until she pushed her curls back behind her ears.

Of course. That was probably it. The wind was blowing through the trees, making the limbs rustle. Nature at its best.

Another reason she wasn't particularly fond of nature. Give her a nice, safe castle any day. One with high walls and archers to keep the predators at bay.

Noises rationalized, she closed her eyes a third time, hoping it would be the charm her mom used to proclaim it only to hear the noise again, closer now.

This time she sat bolt upright, eyes opened, dirk at the ready.

"Did I wake you, Lady MacAlister?"

"Crapola," she breathed, barely aware she'd said the word aloud.

Moreland. Apparently her fears about a predator were well founded.

"Or should I say, Mistress MacQuarrie?" Double crapola.

She pushed up to her feet, holding the little dagger in front of her. "Be on your way, Sir Peter. I won't hesitate to protect myself if I have to."

He strode toward her, not appearing the least intimidated by the dirk she brandished. Not even when he grabbed her wrist and twirled her around, slamming her back into his hard chest as he knocked the dirk from her hand.

"None of that, my lady," he cautioned, his breath skirting over her cheek as he leaned in to speak into her ear.

No, she had no intentions of making this easy for him.

She threw her head forward, then slammed backward into his chin with all the force she could muster, at the same time stomping her foot onto his ankle.

He grunted, letting go his hold on her and she took off at a run, praying she'd actually hurt, not just startled him.

Barely two steps and the ribbon at her neck yanked tight, sliding around her throat, cutting into her skin. Her head wrenched back and tears filled her eyes as she choked, the whole of it bringing her to her knees in a coughing fit.

Moreland stood over her, the stone and ribbon she'd worn around her neck dangling back and forth from his hand a second before he tossed it to the ground. His fingers tightened on her upper arm and he dragged her to her feet, her face ending up inches from his as she teetered on her tiptoes.