Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) (12 page)

The brilliant colors of sunset reflected in the rushing waters of the River Shiel as he galloped along the trail beside it and through the narrow wood by the cliffs. He must hurry, for night would be upon them soon. Once he'd left the trees behind,
Clachan nan Sìtheach
came into view upon the heathery hillside. His clan had many legends about this standing stone circle.

Dunn barked and veered off the trail.

Neacal slowed the horse, then stopped, watching the dog snuffling at the ground. Fortunately, Dunn had an amazing nose and could sniff out anything long before he encountered it.

"What is it, lad?" Had he found Anna? Or was it an outlaw?

Dunn headed up the hillside toward
Clachan nan Sìtheach
.

Why would Anna be up there, in the standing stone circle?

The dog woofed low, trotting amongst the rocks and low-growing heather plants. Neacal dismounted, and looped the horse's bridle loosely on a bush. He drew his sword and followed. Dunn could've caught the scent of something else… a highwayman perhaps. The dog wasn't terribly riled as he would be if he'd smelled a wolf, but he did seem keen to search out whatever it was. He ran ahead, up the hill and underneath a stand of prickly gorse bushes. Neacal detoured around them.

A brief scream echoed through the gloaming.

Was that Anna? Neacal raced up the hill.

Dunn woofed low again and a short female laugh resounded. "Get off me, you great beast."

Anna's voice, thank the saints!

"Och, you're eating all my food!" she yelled.

Neacal rounded a boulder and found her trying to drag a satchel from Dunn as he nosed through it, wolfing down something.

"Dunn, come," Neacal commanded as he moved forward.

The dog immediately bounded to his side, happily licking his lips and wagging his tail.

Anna held an apple in each hand. "What? You don't like apples, Dunn?" she grumbled.

"God's teeth, Anna." Neacal took her arm and helped her rise to her feet. The cowl had slipped off her head and her blond hair was disheveled, half fallen down from its knot, but she had never looked more beautiful. And he had never been happier to see her. Still, he had to make her see how reckless she was being.

"Why did you leave the castle?" he demanded.

Looking perturbed, she brushed off her skirts, picked up her satchel and crammed the apples back inside. "'Tis a long story. How did you ken where to find me?" She avoided his gaze. What was she trying to hide from him?

"I questioned a few people who saw you leave."

"Blast!" she hissed beneath her breath.

"Why are you out here? Especially after what happened in the shed? You know 'tis dangerous."

Her gaze darting to him and then away, she pressed her lips tight and clamped them between her teeth. Why was she being so stubborn?

"Regardless, I must get you back to the castle where you'll be safe," he said. "There are outlaws and highwaymen about."

"Nay!" She covered her mouth, then slowly lowered her hands. "Pray pardon, but I cannot go back there now."

"Why not?"

She glanced north, in the general direction of the castle. Tension emanated from her and worry lowered her brows. She appeared to be squirming in her slippers.

"Did someone mistreat you? Insult you? Attack you?" If they did he would see them punished or banished.

"Nay. 'Tis for personal reasons," she said.

"What about your band of traveling minstrels? Surely they cannot play without your beautiful song."

"Of course they can. Harriet has a wonderful voice."

"Aye. But you're the main attraction."

A hint of a smile ghosted over her face along with a blush. "I thank you, but I'm sure they can get on without me." Dunn nosed at her hand and she petted him.

Much as Neacal hated to admit it, he did not want to get on without her. He'd missed her and not just because of her singing. Though he wished her to look into his eyes, she stared down at the dog. Again, he found himself jealous of the attention she bestowed upon the beast, not to mention the physical contact and affection… which he craved for himself.

"Everyone speaks of how much they love your singing. And I do, too, of course."

"You are too kind," Anna said, hoping the faint light of gloaming hid the blush of pleasure that covered her. Chief MacDonald certainly was a charming flatterer when he wanted to be.

She couldn't believe he had chased after her. Although his interference annoyed her, it also gave her an unexpected thrill. He'd obviously noticed her absence at the castle. This was a new sensation for her. Since she'd begun her life on the road, she'd tried to blend in as much as she could, so no one would take special notice of her. She had no choice but to earn a living singing, but she didn't enjoy the attention. Once she was finished performing each night, she wanted to retreat to the shadows and disappear.

Wanting to stare at Neacal in the twilight and delve into every detail of his captivating appearance, she forced herself not to. Instead, she glanced up the hill at the cliffs she'd intended to hide in earlier when she'd heard him approaching through the rocks. But she now saw 'twas not cliffs but massive upright stones. "What is that?"

"
Clachan nan Sìtheach,
"
he said. "I would show it to you but I need to get you back to the castle before dark."

"I'm not going back," she blurted, staring him eye to eye.

"Why not?" he demanded, his expression turning annoyed.

She dropped her gaze and stared at the ground. "I… would rather not say."

"What happened that is worse than the risk of being taken hostage by a band of outlaws?"

Word getting back to Blackburn. She would rather die than be captured by him.

"Do you ken what they would do to you, lass?" Neacal growled low. "'Tis too horrible to think about."

She nodded, knowing he was right. Still, she was not going back to wait as a lamb to slaughter. She had not survived this long by being afraid to strike out on her own.

After a long moment, he must have reached some decision, for he said, "Come. I'll show you the standing stones. Hold onto my arm."

Was this some trick? Anna eyed him critically. Would he toss her over his shoulder and force her back to the castle?

"You don't trust me?" he asked, still waiting, his elbow extended toward her.

"Of course, I do." He'd saved her life, after all. But that didn't mean she wanted to tell him her every secret. She laced her arm through his brawny one. Even though he wore a doublet over his shirt, the defined muscles beneath the layers of fabric were obvious. Clinging to him, she found it easier to move among the rocks and low-growing bushes of gorse and heather.

"Are you not chilled?" she asked. "A cool wind has been blowing this eve and I'm glad for my thick cloak."

"You call this cool?" He shook his head. "Dunn and I often swim in the icy loch."

She shivered at the thought. "How on earth do you tolerate that?"

"I've grown used to it. The cold water improves the constitution and strength. I've done it since I was a lad."

"I admire your fortitude," she said dryly, though she did indeed admire everything about him, especially his strength, resilience and bravery, his gentleness and good heart. "Tavia said you also like to run and climb mountains."

"Aye, it increases endurance during battle."

She had seen the men dashing back and forth across the bailey and along the loch's shore as part of their training, at his behest, no doubt. He was a stern taskmaster when it came to readying his soldiers for battle.

Most clans had a runner or two, a man who carried messages, sprinting through glens and over hills and mountains. Such men trained every day to build up their stamina to quickly deliver missives for their chiefs, traveling over perilous terrain too dangerous for horses. Though she had never heard of a laird who had trained like a messenger, she could believe it, given his tall, lean and muscular frame. He obviously demanded more of himself than he did his men.

As they reached the crest of the hill, she could not believe the height of the monoliths before her. "They're stunning," she whispered, the wind carrying the sounds away.

"Have you seen a standing stone circle before?" he asked.

"A very small one with short stones. Naught like this. 'Tis impressive." She glanced around, counting thirteen stones. The tallest must have been at least twelve feet.

Neacal led her inside the ring. "My sister loves it here. Years ago, when no one could find her at the castle, I knew she would be here."

"Did your clan build this?"

"Nay," he said. "One legend says the fairies built it. Another says 'twas the ancient ones—a race of people who lived here before our own—who built it thousands of years ago."

A sense of wonder and mystery suffused her as she tried to imagine what had happened on this site in the past and how people could have erected such large stones.

"Does it possess magic?" she asked.

Neacal shrugged one broad shoulder. "The elders claim it does, and most of our clan members steer clear of it for fear of being cursed. But when Maili and I were children, we'd often slip off and visit this place to see if we could see fairies. I've never noticed anything unusual hereabouts."

Anna walked toward the middle of the ancient monument. "Why did they build it?"

"No one knows, but we believe this is a sacred site."

"'Tis lovely," Anna breathed, shivering at the sharp prickle that raced over her body. Was this merely because she was standing beside a most handsome and tantalizing Highlander? Or did these rocks contain a spell?

Something compelled her to touch the central stone, which was more than twice her height. When she did, an even more intense tingle shook her.

"Saints," she breathed.

"'Tis an ancient stone." Neacal brushed his fingers over the surface.

"Aye," she whispered. Beneath her hand, the stone felt polished by the wind, rain, ice and snow, but part of it was covered in rough lichens. "I wonder what the world was like when these were erected."

"Probably far different from now." He lowered his gaze to hers and held it there. What was he thinking? Although she knew she should look away, something wouldn't allow her to take her gaze from his. His eyes had turned the color of a midnight sky. She could not fathom his expression but 'twas captivating and forceful.

After a long, tense moment, he slipped a hand around her neck, leaned forward and brushed his warm lips across hers. Her breath fled and she was instantly lost to sensation. Wondering what he would taste like, she flicked out her tongue. He tasted of potent, luscious male and she wanted to savor him for eternity.

He growled deep in his throat, bent and lifted her against him. Oh, heavens! Her head spun from the movement and his disorienting kiss. She threw her arms around his neck and desperately held on. He consumed her mouth with a compelling hunger she had never before experienced. What on earth caused such sharp passion? Something about him heightened her senses, made her profoundly aware of him. His bewitching scent, his delicious taste, and the hardness of his muscles melted her inside.

He overwhelmed her with devouring kisses and she craved a deeper connection to him. His hands beneath her derriere, her legs encircling his waist, he leaned her back against the smooth hard surface of the stone and took the kiss to new heights. She could no longer think; she could only feel all the wondrous sensations he was raining down upon her, body and soul.

"Anna, you drive me mad," he breathed against her mouth.

What could she say to that? She had no response, except to seek out more mind-stealing kisses. And he indulged her, moaning against her mouth.

After a blissful moment, he rasped, "Saints." He lowered her to her feet. "I must stop this."

Nay!
She wanted to yell, fisting her hand on his sleeve to steady herself, lest she topple to the ground.

What was wrong with her? She was neither a loose woman nor a tavern wench.

He affected her so strongly, her knees were weak. Why did she allow this to happen?

Mortified at her own overly enthusiastic response to his affections, she crossed her arms and stared at the ground… but she sensed his attention focused on her. Her rational thoughts returning by slow degrees, she felt almost as if she'd been tipsy.

"Where were you headed at gloaming, alone?" he asked.

He would not leave that question alone, would he? Since she had no ready answer, her lips remained sealed.

"You must tell me," he persisted. "I'll tell no one." His voice was huskier than it had been before the kiss. "Do you trust me?"

"Aye, I told you I do." She glanced up at him, realizing how profound her trust was for him. He'd saved her life, twice. Still, she didn't know what he would do when he learned of her secret past. She had never told anyone about it. The only people who knew were the ones who'd been with her when it happened.

She could tell him where she was headed, at least. He'd likely already figured that out anyway. "I was going to Acharacle."

"Why?"

She blew out an exasperated breath and decided to lie. "I had a disagreement with the other minstrels." She could think of no better excuse… except for the truth, which he could never find out.

"Disagreement about what?" he asked.

"'Tis a long story."

"What would you do in Acharacle? 'Tis but a wee village."

"Hopefully sing for my supper. 'Tis all I ken how to do."