Return of the Highlander (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Larena wasn’t sure if it was the sound of the birds chirping outside the window or the soothing sensation of a hand brushing lightly across her cheek that raised her out of the darkness.

Before she was able to open her eyes or make sense of where she was, a voice beckoned. It was husky and low…intimately familiar and both calming and exhilarating to her senses. She wanted nothing more than to see the face of the man who spoke to her, but then she wondered if this was not life but death, and his was a voice from heaven.

As memories and consciousness took form, she slowly began to realize that she was still among the living and the voice was no spirit. It belonged to the Highland scout who had found her in the woods.

Darach
…

“That’s it, lass,” he whispered. “Wake up now. The fever’s broken.”

Her heavy eyelids fluttered open to the sight of his face—that beautiful face that pained her, for he was an outcast…an imposter, and she was pledged to another.

Oh, God, her father
…

Larena’s heart raced suddenly with fear that it was too late, that she had missed the deadline to save him.

A hot rush of panic invaded her belly as she recalled the past week’s ordeals: the invasion at Leathan…her father beaten and dragged away in front of her clan, sentenced to death. Then the ambush on the forest road and the deaths of her British escorts, and that excruciating moment when her horse galloped off with the King’s pardon.

“What day is it?” she asked, straining to sit up. “Where is Rupert?”

“Do not worry, lass,” Darach said. “Your saddle bags are here, safe and tucked away beside me. There is still time to reach Leathan, but you’re weak and you’ve been ill. You cannot travel yet.”

She glanced around the room. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since yesterday afternoon,” he told her. “It’s just as well. We couldn’t have gotten far in that storm.”

She squinted toward a chair in front of the hearth where her skirt and bodice and stockings were hung up to dry. Then she peered down at herself under the covers. She wore only her loose white shift.

“Did you undress me?” she asked.

“Aye, lass. You were burning up and I had to do something to cool you down.”

She couldn’t help but wonder how that had played out while she was unconscious—had she been aware of his hands on her body?—but under the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to concern herself with unimportant rules of propriety. She had to get home. That was all that mattered.

It took significant effort, but she managed to rise up on her elbows. “Thank you for bringing me here and caring for me.”

“It was no trouble.”

Something unexpected possessed her in that moment and she reached for his hand. “You look tired, Darach. Did you get any sleep?”

“Not much,” he replied, keeping his gaze lowered.

She stared at him for a few seconds, then let go of his hand and sat up straighter on the bed. “We need to go.”

“Aye.”

Darach stood and she tossed the covers aside, swung her legs to the floor… But a wave of nausea slowed her progress. The room began to spin.

“You all right, lass?” Darach asked.

“I sat up too fast,” she replied, lying back down again. “I feel a bit woozy.”

Darach covered her with the blanket and moved to the door. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’ll fetch you some bread and tea.”

“But we need to go,” she insisted as he opened the door.

“Not until you’re able.”

He walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving her feeling weak and powerless and completely at his mercy.

* * *

“I can ride,” she swore an hour later as she fastened the ties on her bodice. “I feel much better now. Honestly.”

“I don’t think you’re well enough,” Darach replied from where he stood on the small braided carpet by the door. “You’re still weak and you hardly ate a thing.”

“My appetite will return soon enough, and I’m not suggesting we gallop at a breakneck pace. If we walk the horses, I’ll be fine. But I cannot stay here another day, Darach. Not when my father’s life is at stake.”

He stared at her reluctantly, then bowed his head, shook it, and let out a breath of defeat. “Fine.” He reached for his weapons and donned his sword belt. “I’ll prepare the horses and gather some provisions. I’ll be back to fetch you in a bit. Sit down and rest until I return. Do not leave this room.”

On his way out, he stopped in front of her—so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks. Her pulse fluttered alarmingly in her veins and she felt utterly overcome.

He remained there, looming over her like a mountain, his gaze raking over her body with scrutiny. Then he strode to the door. “Only one more day of this, lass. Then tomorrow we’ll be free of each other.”

As soon as he was gone, she sank, boneless, onto the bed, wondering uneasily about the meaning behind his words. Did he loath her that much? Or did he feel the same forbidden desire she did?

She supposed it would be best if she never learned the answer to those questions. What mattered was finding a way to survive one more day in his company without losing total control of her heart.

* * *

Larena made it as far as the staircase before she had to pause to gather enough strength to descend, for all she wanted to do was lie down again, right there on the landing.

She felt Darach’s hand on the small of her back and turned to find him peering down at her with concern.

“If I had my druthers,” he said, “you’d still be in bed. But since we have places to go and people to see…” He moved to stand before her. “Put your hands around my neck.”

Without waiting for her to protest, he swept her up into his big strong, capable arms and she felt a flurry of excitement in her blood.

She held tight to his massive shoulders as he descended the stairs. His face was so close, she was half-tempted to brush her nose and lips across his unshaven jaw, to breathe in the scent of his wavy hair, to run her fingers down his muscular chest. None of this was sensible, of course, but she couldn’t help any of it.

Just get me home
, she pleaded surreptitiously to the heavens.
And the sooner the better
.

When they reached the ground floor, Darach continued through the taproom without setting her down. A raucous group of Highlanders cheered for him and broke into an enthusiastic round of applause.

“I’m sure I can walk now,” she suggested as they arrived at the front door, for she knew she was at risk—at risk of enjoying the feel of his body far more than she should.

He paused on the stoop to consider it. “No point in stopping now. The mud’s slicker than butter. Wouldn’t want you to land on your bum and soil your skirts.”

“I won’t fall,” she argued. “Besides, my skirts are already soiled beyond repair.” She worked hard to sound casual when her heart was beating raggedly in her chest and she was short of breath.

“Still,” he said, “I must get my jollies where I can.”

Fighting to ignore the fact that she was secretly thrilled by his remark, she held tighter still as he hopped over a puddle. They entered the stable yard and Darach paused to study the geography of the terrain, his eyes searching for a clear route to the horses on the other side.

“I think I was wrong about you,” Larena said, watching his profile in the morning light.

“In what way, lass?” he asked, distracted.

“I thought you were a bully that first day, but now I see that you are very chivalrous.”

He stepped over a puddle onto a wide wooden plank that had been laid across the boggy yard. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Just because.”

That was the moment she knew that he
was
aware of the attraction between them—at least on her part. Whether or not he felt a similar desire, she knew not.

At last he reached the dry floor of the stable and set her down. “It’s time to get on the road, lass. If we do well today, we’ll make it to Leathan by sunset tomorrow. Up you go now.”

He led her to Rupert and encouraged no more conversation as he helped her mount—and though she was eager to see her father again and tell him the good news about the King’s pardon, she was growing increasingly unsettled by her feelings toward Darach. She dreaded saying good-bye to him, and she was further troubled by thoughts of meeting her betrothed.

What would she and Gregory say to each other after all these years? Would he be chivalrous as well? Would she find him as handsome and physically appealing as Darach?

She had to admit, she hadn’t given much thought to the reality of her forthcoming marriage until this very moment when she watched Darach mount his horse. Once he was in the saddle, her gazed dipped to his muscular thigh and long leg, then upward to his thick forearms and big hands as he gathered up the reins. Something about the way he turned his body and shoulders and thrust his hips to steer his horse out of the stable struck her as virile and raw. A powerful sexual yearning coursed through her blood, and all she wanted was
more
. More of that scorching hot feeling.

More of
him
. And that was, undoubtedly, a dangerous thing.

Chapter Seventeen

Though the weather improved considerably over the previous day’s rainstorm, and the noonday sun was blessedly warm on Larena’s shoulders, by nightfall a thick fog had descended from the mountain peaks. With it came a shockingly damp chill, like a ghostly vapor, floating onto the moors.

Recognizing Larena’s fatigue—which she rebuffed and denied at every turn—Darach insisted they stop near a cluster of granite boulders among the rolling hills, which would provide some shelter from the mist.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at lighting a fire, Darach finally managed to get a robust blaze going, and they settled in for a meal of salt beef and hearty bread with cheese and wine.

“Did we fall behind today?” Larena asked as she finished and set her pewter plate aside. She gathered her woolen shawl more tightly about her shoulders. “There were times I wished we could gallop, but I honestly couldn’t muster the strength. If I continue to slow us down tomorrow, I must insist that you ride on without me.”

“I won’t leave you, lass.”

“I certainly don’t want you to,” she said with a pang of regret, “but my father’s execution is set for the day after tomorrow. We cannot take any chances.”

Darach nodded and raised his leather flask to his lips. His dark eyes were sensually hooded, his long booted legs stretched out lazily before him. Heaven help her, this sexual longing she felt was growing stronger with every hour she spent in his company. It was compounding at an alarming rate that was beginning to frighten her for all that it implied and how it might affect her future.

“I must confess,” she said uneasily, “that when we first set out on this journey, I didn’t think I needed protection, but I don’t know where I would be right now if it weren’t for you. I owe you my life, Darach, and my father will owe you his as well.”

She shivered in the evening chill and again gathered her shawl more snugly about her shoulders.

“Are you cold, lass?” Darach asked, setting his flask aside, not waiting for her to answer before he rose to his feet and circled around the fire.

His relaxed approach filled her with unbidden heat. As he squatted beside her and cupped the top of her head in both his big hands, pressed his palm to her forehead, her eyes fell closed and she melted under his touch. There must be some sort of magic in his hands, she thought, for they lulled her into a state of pure rapture.

“There’s no fever,” he said in that soft, husky voice. “It’s this northern fog. Makes the air feel cold as a tomb, even by the fire.” He moved to fetch his bedroll, brought it closer and stood over her. “Lie down,” he said commandingly. “You’ve been ill, lass. You need to stay warm.”

A flock of excited butterflies took flight in her belly. “Do you mean to lie with me?”

“Aye, with your permission.”

She stared at him with wide eyes.

“If you’re worried I’ll be hankering to take advantage of you,” he added, “I can’t promise I won’t be tempted, because you’re a bonnie lass and Lord knows it’s been a long journey. But if I wanted to have you against your will, I would have done that back at the inn where the bed was soft and you were mumbling nonsense.”

“But you
didn’t
take advantage,” she replied, needing further clarification because she remembered nothing.

Though she wished she did. She wished she could relive every moment in that room with him—while conscious, of course.

“I slept on the floor, lass, and in the chair. Now push over so we can get some rest.”

Sidling toward her bedroll, she watched Darach spread his on the ground beside hers and lie down on it.

“Come closer, lass,” he said. “You need to stop shivering before you set the whole world to quaking.”

As she lay down on her side, he inched closer and tucked his knees into the backs of hers. The heat of his body pressing cozily against hers took her breath away.