The Highlander's Reward (4 page)

An ear-piercing whistle cracked the air. The rebels parted
, opening a path. Panting, she had only a moment to catch sight of a behemoth of a man thundering toward her on a great black horse. She’d never seen a horse so large. Nor a man. Goliath himself had come to end her life.

He barreled toward her, his pace not slowing and she kicked her mount to turn in the opposite direction but the rebels held
her in place.

He was closer now. Maybe even a leader of these rebels. He too was covered in filth, his eyes wild,
light hair flying grabbing the wind as he rode hard, lips curling into a snarl. As he drew closer she saw that his eyes were a brilliant green, like fresh spring grass and new leaves covered in dew. Arbella had never seen such a color. An odd contrast to the grime on his chiseled cheekbones and rough-looking beard. She never expected to see beauty on a demon. Her breath caught and her lungs refused to function. Arbella could not look away. She was amazed, yet frightened by the sight of him. He was from the stuff of fairy tales—not the ones with a happy ending she reminded herself.

Dizziness took over. This must be God’s way of saving her. She would faint before he trampled her with his monster horse.

But that was not the way of it. Instead he swooped in on her, grasped her by the waist and yanked her from her horse. He settled her on his solid lap, still galloping hard as he turned in a circle and headed over the bridge. Arbella bounced wildly in his arms, not sure if she should be more terrified of the man who’d stolen her or the threat of falling from his humongous mount.

Then she knew.
The devil would toss her into the river to drown. Although she could swim, but the deep river water was surely freezing and her muscles would tense up refusing to work. Her gown would fill with water and act as a weight dragging her down to the bottom to her death.

Arbella
tried to pull from his arms, but he only held her tighter in his steel-like grip. Thick with muscle, his thighs were hard and warm beneath her bottom, his arm heavy, solid against her waist.

“Sit still,” he growled with a deep burr against her ear, his breath tickling her neck.

She slapped her hand on the spot, not understanding why her flesh tingled. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it all away.

The sound of the horse’s hooves clopping on wood gave way to a softer
, squishier pound. They were on marsh grass. Arbella opened her eyes wide. He hadn’t dumped her in the river. From behind she heard a whistle, but she couldn’t see who followed.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice sounding surprisingly strong for how weak she felt inside.

“To safety.”

Safety?
The demon had saved her? In truth, God had an unconventional way of answering prayers.

Chapter Four

Chunks of marshy grass and dirt flung from the horses’
racing hooves hitting Magnus about his face and neck. The lass buried herself silently within her cloak to avoid the stinging muck. He was mildly surprised at her lack of whining. Most lasses would have complained of his speed and the handling of her person, but she seemed to accept it or at the very least tolerate it for now.

With good reason, h
e did not slow down. The battle was over—a Scottish victory, but the men were hungry for more, and this lass was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The rebels would think nothing of taking her for their pleasure. She was English, which made it acceptable in their eyes.

But not in his.
She might be of English descent but no woman deserved to suffer.

He and his men raced toward the wooded area at the base of the mountain path that would take them up into the Highlands.

At first, some rebels gave chase on foot but they soon abandoned that notion, no match for Magnus and his men on horses. They were battle hungry, willing to fight their own for a share of the spoils. ’Twas a phenomenon he’d witnessed before—and not one he cared to witness ever again.

What the hell would he do with her now?
’Twas certain he could not take her back the way she came. There was too much danger.

He’d have to take her with him. Once they were safe on Sutherland
grounds he would allow her to write to her family about returning to whence she came.

Over an hour later, Magnus felt comfo
rtable slowing the horses down to a trot. They picked their way through a trail in the forest, their horses’ hooves softened by the soggy ground and grass. The sunlight was filtered by the bountiful leaves of the ancient oaks and maples, giving off a dim magical feel as fingers of light reached to the forest floor.

The
lass in his arms was warm. Her supple body had gone limp against him and soft snores issued from beneath her cloaked face. Magnus was amazed at what he’d seen of her in action. He and his men had come over the bridge to wish Wallace well, only to come upon the mob attacking the blonde angel and her men. They fought valiantly for her, and surprisingly she had fought well too. Momentarily stunned, he watched her strike out with her dirk and then wrench an axe from a man. Her hair had come loose and swung in waves around her noble face. But he’d quickly come to realize she was fighting for her life, and the rebels would make her suffer immensely before they took it.

Magnus
was with the rebels when it came to fighting for Scottish freedom, when it came to protecting their people from the English. But what could a mere English lass do? Nothing. She was simply their spoils from a battle won. He could only think of his sisters and that he would die trying to save them should a similar fate befall them. No woman deserved to be thought of as a tool for pleasure and revenge.

With that thought in mind, he shook her awake. The cloak fell away and he stared into intense blue eyes. They were an odd color. Dark blue, like berries and at the center surrounding her pupil a lighter blue like
that of the sky. Fringed with thick dark lashes, a few clumps of mud clinging to their length. Even still, they were beautiful. He wanted to wipe away the dirt, but didn’t dare touch her. As gorgeous as her eyes were, they were strained. She gazed at him with an intensity he found unnerving. She was afraid, that much he could tell. But she was also proud.

“Do y
e need a moment to refresh yourself?” he asked.

She nodded, her red, pouty lips bowing down into a frown.

When he reached a spot he recalled from their trip to Glasgow, an area  that had a creek nearby to water the horses, Magnus held up his hand for his men to stop.

“What is your name, lass?”

“Arbella,” she said, her voice gravelly as though she’d inhaled pebbles. No doubt it was from shouting and screaming as she’d bravely fought off her attackers.

“I am Laird Sutherland.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything. What did that mean?

Magnus glanced around the thick foliage. They followed a trail in the forest, surrounded by bushes and trees.
Plenty of places to hide.

“Gavin, Ronald,” he said.

“Aye, my laird.” His men knew what he wanted. They dismounted, pulling their claymores from their backs and pushed aside bushes and branches on either side of the trail.

No one of human form emerged, only a few squirrels and rabbits. Birds flew from the trees
his retainers disturbed in their efforts to clear the area and declare it safe.

When the men returned, they nodded and remounted
, indicating it was safe. Magnus led the group off the trail and through the greenery, over a few fallen trees until they reached a babbling brook.

“How did you know this was here?” Arbella asked.

“I remembered.”

She gave him an odd stare, and Magnus shrugged. How else was he to answer?
’Twas the truth.

He swung his leg over the horse and planted his feet on the ground. Reaching up, he gripped the lass around her waist and lifted her. Her waist was small, the curve of her hips ample beneath his fingers. A spark of longing coursed through him. He imagined how she would look beneath her vast skirts and cloak
, lying on his plaid in a meadow surrounded by heather and lush grass. All curves and creamy flesh. His cock jumped to attention, and he quickly set her on her feet before he became like the rebels and tore at her clothes.

“Y
e can relieve yourself over here.” He walked toward a thick hedge by the creek, but turned to see she didn’t follow. She stood beside his horse, a fearful expression on her face. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Come now, no harm will come to ye. Ye have my word.”

His words seemed to calm her somewhat. She took small, tentative steps toward him.
Magnus tried to hide his exasperation. Why wouldn’t she just walk over? He had to stand guard and he needed to piss too. From having sisters, he knew the process would take her forever with those damned skirts. At least his sisters had each other to help. He wasn’t about to offer her assistance—although it would give him a nice view of her shapely arse.

She finally reached him
, averting her eyes, and ducked behind the bushes, her face red as beets.

Magnus shook his head.
Females. Always embarrassed about the most instinctual acts.

He slipped his dirk from the leather ring on his belt and dug it into the tree, carving away the bark a little at a time until he’d shaped a horse. How long was she going to take?

“Lass? Are ye all right?”

There was no sound. Immediately he was on alert. He’d been so intent on the carving, knowing from experience it would be awhile and to afford her a margin of privacy, he hadn’t truly listened for her.

“Arbella?”

Still no answer.

“
Mo creach
,” he cursed and plunged into the bushes.

She was not there. Not even a sign that she’d once been there.
’Twas as if she simply vanished.

“Arbella,” he said a little louder, not wanting to shout and give away their position should any
Sassenachs
be in the area. He had taken heed to Wallace’s warning that the English were heading north.

There was still no answer
. He turned in a wide circle, completely bewildered. How had she escaped without his notice? Then an ear-piercing scream wrenched the air. He turned in a circle, whipping out his claymore, trying to ascertain the direction. Another scream bounced off the trees and Magnus plunged deeper into the forest headed in the way he hoped was her location.

What the hell was going on? The
wench must have tried to escape and fallen, twisted an ankle probably. But no manner of his imaginings prepared him for what he saw when he broke through the trees, finally catching a glimpse of her dark cloak and creamy white legs.

“Keith, get off of her!” he shouted. His man lay sprawled on top of Arbella, his knife at her throat
, her hands pinned beneath her as he fumbled with her skirts.

Magnus charged toward the pair. Once more Arbella was fighting for her life, and to his utter astonishment and rage it was against one of his own. He grabbed Keith by
his thick braid and yanked him up. The warrior flung his blade toward Magnus, missing him by inches. Magnus grabbed the man’s assailing arm and twisted it hard behind his back until Keith screamed out in pain.

“What the bloody devil do y
e think ye’re doing?” he growled.

“She’s English!” Keith
shrieked, still fighting to get loose of Magnus’ strong grip.

“Aye, and what does it matter?”

“She’d see us dead if she could, her people are probably following us now. I merely meant to save us by seeing it done to her first.”

“No,” Arbella
whispered from the ground, shaking her head. Her eyes were wide, tears filling their depths.

Magnus took a second to see that she’d covered herself
. She stood brushing stray leaves and sticks from her gown. A trickle of blood ran down her throat making his anger more pronounced.

“Y
e would. Dinna deny it, bitch!” Keith shouted, struggling all the more to get away from Magnus.

Magnus only tightened his grip causing a piggish squeal from Keith.

“Dinna speak to her like that, else I slit your throat right here and now,” Magnus said in a threatening tone. And he would make good on his threat. He’d not have this bastard trying to kill a woman and then defame her as well.

Arbella shook her head. “I mean you and your people no harm,” she said softly. She reached up and wiped at the blood, her eyes widening all the more when she saw the crimson smear on her fingers. “You cut me.”

Magnus watched in fascination as a swarm of emotion crossed her face. Fear, as she prodded the cut. Relief when she realized it wasn’t very deep, then pure rage as her dark blue gaze fell on Keith.

She marched forward, raised her hand and slapped the warrior
so hard on the face his neck wrenched to the side.

Magnus tightened his grip on Keith’s dislocated shoulder to make sure the man did nothing to retaliate. She deserved to slap him, and the bastard deserved every bit the sting her slap brought.

“Dinna say a word, ye slimy maggot.” Magnus met Arbella’s gaze. “Are ye all right?”

She nodded solemnly and bit her
quivering lip. “I was about to…well, the reason for me going behind the bushes, when he snuck up behind me. He covered my mouth and held the knife to my throat, then dragged me away. I didn’t even have time to shout for help. And I thought he would kill me. His eyes were wild, like they are now.”

Magnus looked into Keith’s eyes. The man had gone mad.
Battle often did that to a body. Dealing death blows to strangers and avoiding their parried attacks was overwhelming on the mind. Even still, he could not be allowed to go free after harming the lass.

“I will not let
ye out of my sight again. I gave ye my word no harm would come to ye, and already I’ve broken my promise.”

“But—”

“I will have to turn my back when you conduct your business, ’tis all. Ye canna be alone until I can assure your safety.”

She looked like she wanted to argue but she didn’t.
He was relieved at that. He hated to argue with the fairer sex. They always seemed to turn everything around until he finally had no idea what they were arguing about.

“We need to get back to the men.”

“But I still need to…”

“Och…right.
Well, let me get this scoundrel to Gavin and then we’ll…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it any more than she could. And why, he had no idea. He’d told any number of people to go piss, but somehow the words just seemed wrong to the gentle breeding of Arbella’s nature. There was no doubt in his mind, she was a lady. A noble lady. But there was no time for questions now. He’d have to find out later just who the hell he’d taken from the battlefield and why the hell she’d been there in the first place.