RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER

by Preston, Rebecca

  “But yes. We talked about the situation, and I’ve changed my mind. You did the right thing, protecting the servants. I’m very grateful to you.”

  So, you should be, she wanted to snap, and it’s about bloody time you realized the bleeding obvious… but she restrained herself. This was a step in the right direction, for Donal. It was a little late, but he had apologized for imprisoning her, admitted she’d done the right thing, and even thanked her for what she’d done for him and his castle. This was good. This was progress. So, she just smiled sweetly. “I was happy to help. I hope to be of more service in the future.”

  “Oh, aye. And I’d be thrilled to use you, truly. Just one thing.” His eyes narrowed, and a steely look came into them.

  Here we go, Anna thought, her heart sinking. He was going to tell her to know her place, to stay where women were supposed to stay, not to get uppity…

  “The thing that troubled me most was the way you spoke to me. Not in the room, when it was just us — but out there, in the forest, after the wolf was slain. You insulted me, undermined my authority — and all of that is fine, but not in front of my men. Do you understand?”

  She hesitated. Now she thought about it, he was actually (she thought reluctantly) pretty justified in that resentment. Undermining a leader in front of their soldiers… that was a dangerous move, and a serious one. She should have controlled herself, she knew that. But the adrenaline had been high, and the frustration of him swooping in as though he needed to save her from a situation she’d had under control had overridden her better judgment.

  She nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry about that, truly. It won’t happen again.”

  “Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes shining as he looked at her. “Anna, I’ll be honest — I’ve never been struck by a woman the way I’ve been struck by you. If you’ll have me, I’d like you for my own.”

  She blinked, taken off guard again. God, this man was good at blindsiding her. First the kiss, then a serious and heartfelt apology… the revelation that he’d actually reflected on and thought about what she’d said, revised his opinion of her, even taken onboard a lot of her criticisms to grow as a leader… she hadn’t thought he had it in him. It was good to know that he did, if she was honest. Very good. She felt hope for their future as a castle for the first time in a long time. But now — this question. What did he mean, he wanted her for his own? Like a pet? Like a possession? Some element of her reaction to that must have shown on her face, because he waved his hands dismissively.

  “You don’t have to give me an answer right away.”

  “No, I’m — I’ll admit, Donal, I’m interested,” she said archly, raising an eyebrow. A slight flush of pleasure rose to his cheeks, and she grinned. “But we need to discuss my status, if that’s to be the case. Am I a permanent resident of the castle?”

  “Aye,” he said, immediately. “For as long as you want to stay, you’re one of us, Anna. You’ve more than earned your place here. Maeve loves you, the men speak highly of you, you’ve made fast friends among the servants… even a couple of the occultists were telling me the other day that you’re a bright woman with a lot of insight to offer. You’re one of us,” he said again, smiling at her.

  She nodded. “Good to hear. Thank you. But if I’m to be a permanent member of the castle… I’d like a weapon.” She had a weapon, of course… it was stashed in her clothing as they spoke. But he didn’t know that. Besides, it was stolen, and a favor from Brendan besides. She wanted a sword of her own, one she could wear in a hilt at her waist.

  Donal was frowning. “Women don’t usually carry swords.”

  “Well, that sounds like a problem with what you let women do, not a problem with women carrying swords,” Anna pointed out sharply — then tempered her response. “I assure you, Donal, I know how to use a weapon. The castle is safer with me armed than with me unarmed, I tell you that.”

  He didn’t look convinced. A wild impulse struck her, and she stood up, gesturing at the doorway.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Aye, and what’s that?”

  “Spar with me.” Her eyes gleamed. She’d suggested this on the roof, days ago (God, it felt like centuries) and he’d laughed her off. This would be a good test of whether he’d truly revised his impression of her. And sure enough, to her delight, instead of laughing this time he looked thoughtful.

  “Spar with you? Truly?”

  “If you think you can keep up,” she said loftily — that pulled a laugh out of him, but it wasn’t a condescending laugh. He was reacting to the challenge, she could tell — he was subconsciously straightening his posture, getting ready to take her on. Excellent. “Not with steel, obviously. I wouldn’t want to hurt you. But the wooden blades, down in the practice yard? What do you say?”

  Donal looked intrigued by the idea — but his face fell as he glanced down at all his paperwork. “Listen… I’ve a lot of work to get through today. Can I meet you tonight? After dinner?”

  “And we’ll spar?”

  “Aye,” he said, sounding gently exasperated. “We’ll spar, if it’ll make you happy.”

  “Very happy indeed,” she said, grinning. “I’ll leave you to your work. After dinner? Straight after dinner?”

  “Aye,” he said, laughing. “It’s a date.”

  She glowed a little at that — though she couldn’t resist getting a final shot in before she left him to his work. “I know you only want to spar after dark so your men don’t see you getting beaten by a woman half your size,” she said — then shot off down the hall as quickly as her legs would carry her before Donal could respond. She heard him laughing all the way down the corridor.

  Well, let him laugh, she thought, giddy with glee at the prospect of finally showing him what she was capable of. He was about to get quite the wake-up call about women with swords.

  Chapter 49

  Anna was wildly impatient for the rest of the afternoon. Her palms were itching with the urge to get hold of a sword, her heart was pounding with the anticipation of finally showing Donal a thing or two about sword fighting. She was nervous, just a little, but as a competitive woman, Anna had always used nerves to her own advantage. Nerves were just energy waiting to be tapped into. You could let them overcome you, or you could use them for fuel. And Anna had no intention of being overcome. Not today.

  After she finished talking to Donal, she almost skipped down the spiral staircases, a spring in her step as she trotted across the entrance hall to the castle. Stepping out onto the steps that lead down into the courtyard, she blinked a little — it had been a few days since she’d been outside in the daylight. She realized she’d missed it more than she thought. It wasn’t good for a person to be stuffed in a room for days on end, she thought resentfully — but then that emotion was eclipsed by a surge of glee. Just more fuel for the fire — more reason to knock Donal on his ass in the dust.

  Well, maybe not dust. She stood on the step, surveying the courtyard with some dismay. The sky had opened, and there was a gentle mist of rain falling. Where she stood, she was mostly shielded from it by the eaves above her, but there was definitely a gentle steady rainfall going on. Interesting. That would alter her strategy a little, if they were going to fight out in this courtyard. With rain, the stones would be slippery and treacherous to walk on. Best do some research now. Donal would have had plenty of experience moving around on these floors, wet or dry — she needed to try and catch up on twenty-five years of experience in just one afternoon. She was careful on the steps, mindful that they’d be slippery. No sense at all in crashing down and breaking her ankle before what was probably going to be the most important fight of her life.

  Well, the fight against the wolf had been more important, she thought, feeling a brief flicker of guilt about having forgotten that particular encounter. After all, the lives of a dozen people had depended on that fight. That one had been important. And theoretically, if she came up against these witch hunters who were in
the village, that would be pretty important, too — saving the lives of the accused so-called ‘witches’ by the Loch was probably more important than showing up some uppity, self-important, incredibly hot Laird with hard hands and soft lips and — she shook herself hard as she got to the courtyard. Those kinds of thoughts wouldn’t help at all. First, she’d fight him. Then she’d win. Then — maybe, just maybe — she’d think about a romantic entanglement with him. What had he said? He wanted her for his own? There was something about that phrase — his accent helped, of course — that made her whole body feel like it was tingling. But she couldn’t allow herself to be his while he still held her in such low regard. He had to know that she could beat him in a fight before he could be allowed any closer, emotionally or physically.

  The tiles weren’t very slippery, she realized, pacing back and forth on them. She probably looked like a madwoman to anyone looking over the wall at her, but that was the least of her concern right now. The fine rain was drenching her, wetting her hair and soaking her clothing, but she didn’t care about that much, either — though she’d make sure to get in front of a hot fire once she was back inside. No sense at all in falling sick again. Somehow, she knew that Maggie would be able to sense that she’d contracted a cold by doing something foolish, and she wouldn’t be offered the same magical healing wraps as she had been last time. Fair enough, too, she thought, rolling her eyes at her own bloody-mindedness. When you made your bed, you had to be ready to lie in it. Having traipsed about on the stones to her satisfaction, noting the grip and the hazards, she trotted back toward the huge double doors at the front of the castle. She was getting fonder and fonder of this castle as time went on, she thought fondly, looking up at the structure. Despite how bleak it looked, outlined against the gray, rainy sky, she couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of belonging. This was her home now. That thing Maggie had said — about home being something you carried in your chest — that was true, wasn’t it? She’d carried her home with her for long enough. Now it was time to put it down. At least for a little while… and maybe forever. A lot of it would depend on how this fight went. Handsome or no, she wasn’t staying with Donal if he couldn’t be taught to respect her properly. But she had a lot of hope for him, if she was honest. He’d surprised her in their conversation earlier… and not just by kissing her.

  She blushed again, thinking of that. She hoped he was still interested in kissing her after she knocked him on his ass during their fight. Of course, if he wasn’t, then he wasn’t the right man for her, and that was that. But still… that would sting, she knew. Fingers crossed he proved himself.

  Night fell as she busied herself in the kitchens, helping prepare dinner. There were huge fires lit in there, and her clothes were dry in no time, the warmth of the flames seeping through and warming her very bones, banishing any chance of a cold creeping in around her defences. Good. She’d hate to get sick again — especially when she had a rather important date that night. She sat with the servants again, who were still gossiping about the issue of the witch hunters. No new information, though, or at least, none that she could pick up. The same list of accused — some widows in the village, Maggie, Maeve, Donal. She hoped the witch hunters didn’t have any spies on the insides of these walls. They’d have a longer list pretty soon, she thought, glancing at a table full of herbalists all bickering furiously with each other over whether picking a specific herb at the full or the new moon was a better idea. Did it really make a difference? She assumed so, if they were all getting so heated about it.

  She ate lightly, not wanting to be weighed down by their fight. Donal was dining in the hall — she’d spotted him once or twice though she pretended not to see him, shot the occasional furtive glance at where he was eating. He didn’t seem concerned at all about their fight, chowing down on huge slices of meat. Let him, she thought with a grimace. He’d regret it soon enough when she put him through his paces. Should she use his full belly to her advantage? No, she decided, sportsmanlike. She didn’t want him to be able to claim she’d won through trickery. A fight, fair and square, that was all she wanted.

  She stole out of the hall almost before dinner was even over, catching a few surprised looks from the servants, who — it seemed — were expecting her to help out with dinner cleanup. She felt a pang of guilt and resolved to work twice as hard the following day to assist them. She hoped soon she’d have a less domestic role in the castle. Chief military advisor, something like that. Not that she didn’t enjoy helping out in the kitchens… it just felt like it was enforcing a certain image that she was trying to escape.

  Donal was waiting for her, out in the courtyard. To her delight, the rain had eased up — there were even patches of stars peeking out between the blanket of rainclouds. Donal had two wooden swords in hand — he tossed one to her without speaking, and she caught it easily, aware that that had been the first test and not caring one jot. Let him test her all he wanted. She’d been in the Army. She’d pass every test he could think of.

  “Around the side,” he said in a low voice when she stepped back with her sword, ready to fight him then and there. She nodded, turning and striding away with the longest steps she could manage, not looking back to see if he was following. Psychological warfare. It was all happening now. They moved around the side of the castle to a long stretch of wall, and Anna glanced up to see that there were no guards stationed along it. Interesting. A blind spot.

  “First to three strikes?” she suggested, taking a stance with the sword.

  He nodded, raising his own.

  This was kind of hot, it occurred to her as they circled each other in the low light. She tried to make herself focus, half amused and half annoyed by the thought. Here she was, in the shadow of a castle, locked in armed combat with a Scottish Laird, and all she could think about was how attractive he was. Still, her close examination of his body meant that she caught the slight turn of his shoulder that heralded a lunge at her. A slow lunge, clumsy. She dodged it easily and countered with all the force she had — he blocked it just in time. Their swords hit hard, and he glanced quickly over his shoulder, clearly concerned about being overheard. But when he looked back at her, it was with a look of grudging respect. She’d won a point, there. But she hadn’t struck him, and that was what she really wanted.

  In the end, she did score first — but he made her work for it. He was practiced, seasoned at this even at a young age, moving with the easy grace of a man who’d been doing this all his life. The sword was an extension of his arm, almost, always where he needed it to be. She had worked with more intensity, though — for her the blade was an extension of her military training. And she had the advantage of her height. He had a long reach, which wasn’t helping him when she was constantly up close, dodging around, keeping the pressure on him. She managed to work him around until his back was to the wall — then she drove her sword in hard, drawing a grunt of surprise from him when it squarely hit his torso. If that had been steel, the wound would have been life-threatening … and from the way he winced and rubbed his (armored) shoulder, it had been a good blow.

  “One to you,” he admitted, more graciously than she’d expected. It was a little disappointing. She almost wanted him to gnash his jaws and rend his garments in frustration. Still, there was time for that. They hurled themselves into the fray again, and this time he was fighting properly — she could tell by the way he moved faster, hit harder, the way his breath began to pant in and out of him, the set of his jaw and the gleam of his eye in the patchy starlight. He was quite a sight to behold — and maybe it was that distraction that set her stumbling, the sharp of his wooden blade stinging as it struck her hard on the shoulder blade.

  “One to me,” he said, eyes gleaming.

  “You should try this in skirts,” she panted, gesturing at her clothing.

  “What d’ye think a kilt is, woman? Stop making excuses.”

  They lunged at each other again, and this round was the most ferocious yet. Anna co
uld feel her blood singing in her ear, feel her pulse pounding hard in her body as they almost danced with one another, their swords clattering loudly in the night. He was breathing hard, she was panting — it struck her that this was a lot like making love, in a strange way, and she blushed hard enough that she was grateful they were fighting almost in the dark. Only the outline of his body, the glint of the dim light, the magnetic heat of him as they fought back and forth. She saw an opening and dove for it — his sword moved, impossibly fast, and struck her hard in the shoulder, carrying her back to hit the wall hard, her back pressing into the cold, damp stone.

  And Donal was there, impossibly tall, his body almost steaming with heat in the cold night air. And then he was kissing her hard, his arms around her, bearing her upwards and pressing her hard between the heat of his body and the cold of the stone, and the sword clattered from her unprotesting hand, forgotten.

  Chapter 50

  Anna wrapped her legs around Donal’s powerful waist, surprised at how high he’d managed to lift her against the wall — it had felt almost like he’d swooped on her from the other side of the path, and she didn’t remember being borne up against the wall. It was as though she’d just floated there, her body naturally lining up with his as they kissed. Now, his hands were on her hips, half-supporting her — she wanted to tell him he needn’t have bothered, that her legs were the strongest part of her, that she’d happily stay here for hours on end and hardly feel it, but her mouth was otherwise occupied, so she just kissed him, hard and hungry and desperate. It felt like all the built-up intensity of their fight, the tension between their bodies as they circled one another in the strange narrow alleyway between the castle and the wall, was all spilling out of them.