Taming a Wild Scot: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel (19 page)

“Bloody hell, Ana.”

Her toes were bright red, swollen with blisters, and in some places peeling. Even the wind dancing lightly across them shot shards of pain up her legs, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“I should have skewered the bastard,” Niall said grimly. “Can you not heal them?”

“If I do, we’ll arrive in Kildrummy too late to meet the others,” she said.

He shrugged. “Then we’ll join them later.”

He said it as if it didn’t matter, but Ana could see the shadows flicker in his eyes as he spoke. “Are you certain?”

“Aye. I’m certain.” Then he set about making a camp for them, tenting his brat over several boulders and holding it in place with a few rocks. Hardly a sturdy shelter, but with the horses blocking the rain, some burlap on the ground, and Ana’s thin woolen blanket around their shoulders, it was surprisingly cozy.

Ana removed her other boot and rubbed her hands together.

As the crimson vines swirled down her arms, she held her fingers over her toes and swallowed hard. Touching the burned flesh with her hot hands would hurt. A lot. She knew that because she’d healed burns on other people.

Niall pulled Ana back against his chest and hugged her tight.

“You can do it,” he murmured into her hair. “I know you can. You’re the bravest lass I know.”

She shook her head. “I’m not brave.”

“So speaks the woman who defied all odds and survived a chase through the woods when she was near starved to death.”

“I had no choice.”

“Oh, but you did,” he said softly. “You could have given up a number of times along the way. But you never did. You kept moving. You kept running, even though it pained you. You showed me what real strength is that night, Ana.”

Ana blinked back tears.

She didn’t recall the night the same way at all, but the honesty of his words touched her deeply. Was she brave? Perhaps not. But strong enough to place her healing hands on her toes? She took a deep breath. Hopefully, yes.

She laid her hands on her feet.

And screamed.

Niall’s arms tightened around her, and he murmured soft Gaelic endearments in her ear until the pain faded and her screams stopped. The fluid-filled blisters sank back into the skin, the angry red flesh became pink again, and the peeling skin became whole again.

Niall ran a finger over the tips of her toes.

“You are a miracle,” he said.

Coming from his lips, it felt like a compliment. “Few people see it that way.”

“Few people can accept what they cannot understand.”

Ana relaxed against the hard planes of his chest and belly, relishing what would surely be a temporary truce. “But you do.”

“I’ve borne witness to other inexplicable events,” he said.

“Truly?” she asked curiously. “What sorts of events?”

He was silent for a long moment, and then he asked, “Are you familiar with the druids?”

She laughed. “You mean the priests of the ancient gods? Aye, I’ve heard the tales of magic and miracles.”

“We had a druid living among us for many a year,” he said. “He died three winters ago.”

Ana grew still. Was he jesting? It didn’t sound as if he was.

“He wore white robes, had a white beard that flowed to his knees, and carried a crooked willow staff.”

Ana pulled away and stared at him, frowning. “But the druids are long gone. None have been sighted in a hundred years or more.”

He returned her stare, calm and even. “You could say the same of the Picts, yet you have accepted that my kin are descended from them.”

“Are you saying this druid was capable of miracles?”

Niall shrugged. “All I can speak to is that which I’ve seen with my own eyes. He cast a circle of fire around a small party beset by hungry wolves, and called forth a blinding mist during a battle.”

Ana bit her lip. If such powerful beings had truly existed, surely they would have resisted the press of Christianity? Stood like a heathen wall against the preachings of Saint Columba? It made no sense that they would disappear if they were as capable as Niall suggested. Could he not see that?

Niall smiled. “You think me a madman. I can see it on your face.”

“Not a madman,” she protested.

“A simpleton, then. But I assure you, I was not the only witness to the man’s marvels. All of the Black Warriors were witnesses at one time or another.”

Ana was tempted to give voice to her doubts, but his calm acceptance of her own strange gift curbed her tongue. Instead, she simply smiled and steered the conversation in another direction. “Another mention of the mysterious Black Warriors. Tell me, why does the group of men tasked with protecting your clan require such an ominous name?”

Niall noted the slight stiffening in Ana’s body as she spoke. Telling her the truth about the Black Warriors—the whole truth—was a serious risk, but her insistence on parting ways worried him. She had lied when she told him she did not return his affections—he’d seen it in her cheeks. Why would she push him away when they had shared so much and were clearly well suited? Unless she was convinced that her gift would bring him grief, as it had surely brought grief to those who loved her in the past?

He wrapped his arms around Ana’s shoulders, easing her back against his chest. “They are named thus because in days of old each warrior carried a black targe. Once, before this land was known as Alba, they were the personal guard of a mighty Pictish king. Now they only guard the ruins of his palace.”

The blanket flapped wetly, allowing a glimpse of the gray drizzle of daylight.

“Why guard a ruin?” Ana asked.

He debated how much he should tell her, then decided there should be no secrets between them. Not if he wanted to make their relationship truly that of husband and wife. “The king’s most prized possessions still lie within.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “A treasure?”

“A small one, by any standard. His crown, his sword, and a number of decorative pieces, many engraved with the same detailed symbols that are carved into standing stones throughout Aberdeenshire.”

“Why hide them?” she asked. “Why not proudly display them as your heritage?”

“Because we are sworn to keep them—and the symbols on the cavern walls around them—secret. According to legend, they have the power to change the history of Scotland.”

“Is the necklace you seek part of the treasure?”

He shook his head. “The Dunstoras treasure is all silver. The gold and ruby necklace is a gift from the king to his new bride, Yolande de Dreux. My brother is accused of murdering the royal courier to claim it for himself.”

“Oh.”

“He is innocent,” Niall said firmly. “I know him well. He would never put the clan in jeopardy for such a spurious cause as theft.”

“Is he a Black Warrior as well?”

“Nay. He is the laird of our clan. The Black Warriors owe their fealty to him.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Even you? You seem a rather proud sort, not given to bending knee to another man.”

“Aye, even me.”

Smiling, she eased away from his side and reached for their pack of food. “I suppose a man blessed with as many natural talents as you has little need for a title.”

He snorted. “If you wanted the last piece of bread, you had but to ask. Stooping to flattery is beneath you.”

She laughed at that, the last of her reservations falling away. As it slowly died, she favored him with a thoughtful stare. “Are the Black Warriors skilled trackers?”

“Aye.”

“Is that how you found me so swiftly?”

“To some measure. I also chanced upon Leod in the forest.”

Her face wrinkled with a frown. “Was that his name? Leod?”

Niall nodded.

“Is he the one who shot you?”

Another nod.

“Did you kill him?”

He could tell by the way she stumbled over the word
kill
that the notion troubled her. “Aye, but only because he left me no choice. I’m not a man given to wasting lives.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her. She scooted back alongside him and wrapped herself around his arm. “I rather like the idea that you can find me. If ever I’m lost, will you promise to come for me?”

Niall stared out of the tent at the growing dusk. He never wanted to relive another moment like the one he’d endured last night—witnessing Ana tied to a stake, the fagots at her feet alight, her red hair floating eerily on wafts of smoky air. But her gift came with a hefty price. She would always be in danger, always be at risk of some madman who thought her miracle was the hand of Satan. If it would ease her burden even a wee bit, he’d happily stand between her and the madmen of the world and protect her . . . no matter what the cost.

“Aye, I promise to come for you,” he said softly into her hair. “Always.”

T
hey made love until the rain stopped. It was a joyous lovemaking, the kind that can only come after an escape from near death. Or so Ana thought. Certainly, she’d never before been given to such loud screams or wild thrashings as she found her release. And when all was said and done, and they lay entwined body and soul, the glow of satisfaction took a delightfully endless time to wear off.

Beneath her cheek, the thud of Niall’s heart slowly returned to a steady rhythm. It seemed as good a time to confess her feelings as any.

“I love you,” she said.

“I know.”

“How could you know the lay of my heart if I had not confessed it?” She tipped her head up to look at him, suddenly suspicious. “Did some druid magic tell you?”

“Nay, the blushes in your cheeks did.”

Ana grimaced. “Damnable cheeks.”

He planted a kiss on one cheek and then the other. “I rather like them.”

“That’s because they don’t betray your every feeling, as they do mine,” she said crustily.

“We should pack up,” Niall said, pressing one last hard kiss on her lips. “Now that the rain has stopped, the constable will make better time.”

“Do you think he’s drawing near?”

He smiled. “I am, above all, a cautious man.”

Ana sat up and began to dress. “How far are we from Kildrummy?”

“Another half day.” Niall shrugged into his lèine, then lifted a saddle onto the back of the deep-chested sorrel, giving Ana a thoroughly enjoyable view of his rippling muscles. The man was beautiful. No other word did him justice.

He cinched the saddle tight on the black horse, then offered Ana a leg up.

“Wait,” she said, hastily rolling the burlap floor of their tent and stuffing it in a pack. Then she grabbed a chunk of cheese and stepped into Niall’s cradled hands. He tossed her atop the big animal like she was made of down.

Niall gathered up the rest of their belongings, pinned his brat around his shoulders, and mounted. “I aim to push us hard, lass, in hopes of catching up to my men on the other side of the bridge.”

“Fair enough. I’ll warn you now, though, I’m not much of a horsewoman. This is already longer than I’ve ever ridden a beast in my life.”

“Just do what you can,” he said. “There’s one in my party for whom my loss will be sorely felt. I would avoid that heartache, if I can.”

He urged his huge horse into a canter and took off down the glen. Ana coaxed her mount into a rollicking gait with a few clicks of her tongue, and then gripped the horse’s thick black mane and held on tight. While the speed of traveling by horseback couldn’t be matched, she much preferred to make her way by foot.

The hills grew steadily steeper and rockier as they traveled north. The country was a frozen landscape, mostly rocks and snow and ice-crusted streams. Riding astride with her skirts hiked up, Ana’s legs soon grew chilled, and she took to rubbing them on occasion, trying to keep warm. Seeing the grim lines of Niall’s face, she dared not complain or beg for a rest.

The sun slipped toward the horizon, leaving long purple shadows on the snow. The air grew colder, and Ana pulled her brat and her blanket tighter around her shoulders. As was often the case on a winter’s night, the day, when it faded, went swiftly into the dark.

They had been riding for a time with only the moon to guide them, when Niall suddenly halted. He twisted in his saddle and reached for Ana’s bridle.

“Hold,” he whispered. “There’s someone in the rocks up ahead.”

Once Ana’s horse was tucked in close, he righted himself in the saddle and drew his sword. “If we’re attacked, don’t look back, lass. Ride hard and ride fast.”

Ana couldn’t imagine leaving Niall to face the brigands alone, but she knew she wouldn’t be much help in keeping them at bay, either. She nodded.

A small slide of shale tumbled down the rock face and pooled on the white snow. Ana peered into the shadows, but saw nothing. Niall was as still as death, waiting for their attackers to show themselves.

“MacCurran, that bloody well best be you,” boomed a deep voice that echoed off the cliff walls.

Niall relaxed and released the reins of Ana’s horse. “Aye, it’s me, you old goat. Show yourself before you give the lady a fright.”

A huge bear of a man skidded down the rock face, landing at the bottom with a solid stance. The bearded man held a huge great-sword in one hand and a long-eared winter hare in the other. “About bloody time. We’d near given up on you.”

“You were supposed to move on without me,” Niall said.

“Aye,” retorted the bear as he trudged across the snow toward them, “but the lad wouldn’t hear of it.”

When he reached them, Niall tossed Ana a smile. “This is Ivarr, one of the finest sword arms in all of Scotland.”

Ivarr saluted her with a wave of the dead hare. “He’s a liar, but I love him anyway.”

“Ivarr, this is Ana.” Ana waved in return, a little in awe of the giant standing before her.

“We made camp over yonder hill,” said Ivarr, pointing ahead. “Cormac will be pleased to see you. He feared your odds were grave.”

Niall slid to the ground, and Ana noticed with some surprise that he and Ivarr were of similar height. It was the thickness of their arms and middles that set them apart. Ivarr’s arms were not just large; they were small trees.

Happy to see the last of her saddle for a while, Ana hopped down into the snow.

They waded through the ankle-deep snow to the other side of the hill, where a campfire flickered in the darkness and several figures huddled around its warmth. The people by the fire stood as they drew closer, and Ana’s eyes were drawn to the shortest of them—a lad with a solemn face and dark eyes.

Eyes that lit up when Niall shoved his hood back and held his hands to the fire.

“I understand you insisted on waiting for me,” Niall said quietly to the boy.

“Aye.”

“See to my horse, then.”

The lad nodded happily and ran off.

One of the others around the fire, a lean man with long brown hair, and an ashwood bow slung over his shoulder, clapped Niall on the arm. “You’re a sight for troubled eyes.”

“Did you get the necklace?”

The man’s face brightened. “Aye. How did you know?”

Niall grinned. “The baron was loudly bemoaning its loss as we departed. I sincerely hoped it was you who had given him cause for grief.”

“Luck was with me,” Cormac said. “I found the rosewood box in Lady Elayne’s antechamber. Everyone was admiring the new addition to the baron’s family, so no one witnessed me abscond with it. Does this mean we can reclaim Dunstoras?”

“Unfortunately, we’ve no evidence to tie the necklace to the thief,” said Niall with a slow shake of his head. “Leod confessed his sins before he died, but would not name the wretch who drove him to betray us.”

Ana sidled up to the fire, trying to warm her toes. “Perhaps it was the poacher.”

Both men stared at her. She shrugged. “The constable has lamented the presence of someone helping himself to the baron’s game for the past fortnight. If you can hide out in the woods, why not Leod’s accomplice?”

Niall nodded. “I happened upon the leavings of a fire last night. Poacher or thief, I could not say, but there
was
someone in the woods.”

She met his gaze. “Could you track him?”

“Perhaps. But returning to Duthes would be unwise at the moment, and I’ve a pressing need to rest my weary bones for a day or two.”

The man with the bow grinned. “We’re for Dunstoras, then?”

“Aye,” said Niall, smiling slowly. “We’re going home.”

•   •   •

Ana was given a much finer horse to ride when they packed up the next morning—a gray dappled gelding with a gentle mouth and an easy gait. It was Cormac’s horse, which he gave up easily, citing a preference for large black plow horses.

As her arse was still chafed, Ana did not complain.

They rode across the stone bridge at Kildrummy and west through the rolling hills for a day and a half. As they entered a deep wood, which extended as far as the eye could see, the men around her sat up straighter and laughed more easily. Even young Jamie lost the melancholy look in his eyes and leaned forward in his saddle. The horses pranced to the top of a wide ridge, their trappings ajingle.

Ana had been lazily following in Ivarr’s tracks, playing a game of name-the-plant, when Niall called halt, and the party took a reprieve under the leafless canopy of the winter trees. She was squinting at a large evergreen bush in the distance, wondering if it were holly, when he rode back along the trail and stopped beside her.

“Dunstoras lies several leagues ahead, but you can glimpse it between the trees from the top of this cliff.”

Ana frowned. “I’m not very fond of heights.”

He leaned over, caught her about the waist, and lifted her onto his lap. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said, turning his mount—a sturdy Friesian with a flowing black fringe. “This is a sight not to be missed.”

The horse displayed far more trust in its rider than Ana—it trotted out to the edge of the cliff and stopped on command. Ana clutched Niall’s arms and pressed herself back against his chest. Unable to look down, she jammed her eyes shut.

“Look out, not down,” Niall advised gently. “And have some faith in me, lass. I’ll not let you fall.”

Ana took a deep breath. Her faith in Niall was solid as bedrock. If he said he’d hold her fast, then he’d hold her fast. She opened her eyes and sought the horizon. The sun was setting over a distant mountain, and rays of golden light spilled over the trees in the valley. In the thick of the trees, a tall stone tower rose into the sky, its stones so pale a gray that they looked white. Leafless ivy climbed the tower in a swirling pattern not unlike the markings on her arms when she healed. There was something ancient and magical about the tower—almost as if it had stood in this very same spot for a thousand years.

“It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly.

“Aye,” said Niall. “Beautiful and strong. Just like you.”

Ana smiled and snuggled into his arms. If Niall called this place home, then she’d make it hers, as well. As soon as the sun warmed and the earth thawed, she’d borrow a spade. It was long past time she planted that garden.