Highlander’s Gypsy Lass (Highlander's 0f Clan Macgregor Book 1)

by Kenna Kendrick

  Nestled in the saddle between two peaks, Angus and Declan found a place where the rockface broke to create a shallow cave. There was not much room, just enough for the trio to lay elbow-to-elbow next to each other. Angus built a fire in the entrance of the cave while Declan carefully put Rosalie on her stomach, and checked the cuts on her back.

  The wounds were red and festering with the onset of infection. She still drifted in and out of delirium. Her eyes glazed over, unable to see the world around her until the pain of movement brought her back with a cry.

  “I’m so sorry, lassie,” Declan held cradled her head in his lap. “I shouldnae ha’e left ye.” He ran his hand over her hair to comfort her as she cried.

  “It’s no’ yer fault. I asked it o’ ye.”

  Angus returned from tending the horses and fire. He carried a small leather pouch and what was left of the whiskey. Rosalie stiffened as he pulled back the cloak.

  “What’re ye doin’?” Declan scowled, snatching Angus’s wrist.

  “Now’s no’ the time fer modesty. Her wounds need tendin’.” Angus tore from Declan’s grasp and pulled back the cloak. “This’s goin’ tae sting.”

  Rosalie’s cries tore at Declan’s soul; as she gripped the folds of his trousers with all of her strength as Angus poured the spirits over her back. The young redhead buried her face into his stomach, muffling her cries with his body. A terrible feeling of responsibility and helplessness rose in Declan. He hated to see in her pain and wished more than anything he could take it from her.

  “Wha’ is that?” Declan asked.

  Angus pulled at the drawstrings of the small pouch. He used the face of a nearby rock to mix the herbs with a small amount of water until it formed a paste. Declan watched with suspicious curiosity.

  “Aggie made it fer me an’ taught me. It’s oregano an’ roseroot fer pain an’ infection.”

  Angus was gentle as he dabbed the poultice over the raw wounds, cross-hatching Rosalie’s back. She cringed against the sting. Declan rubbed her untainted shoulders in an attempt to lessen the pain inflicted on her.

  “I should o’ killed ‘em,” he growled, his anger reawakening within him.

  Rosalie’s voice was soft and drained from crying. “I’m grateful ye didn’t,” she squeaked. “They’re tortured souls. Le’ God see tae their punishment.” She sucked air in between her teeth with a whimper as Angus touched a particularly deep cut.

  “I’m sorry, lass. I’m tryin’ tae be as gentle as I can.” Angus’s face twisted with empathy.

  “Thank ye.” Rosalie reached behind her and touched Angus’s knee.

  “I cannae do nothin’ about the scars. If Aggie were here…” he trailed off.

  “I am jus’ happy tae be alive an’ free. Thank ye so much fer all ye’ve done.”

  Rosalie fell asleep in Declan’s lap immediately following having the warm wool cloak wrapped snug around her body. Declan held her close to him. He couldn’t sleep. The guilt and rage he felt was too much to find respite.

  “Ye did all ye could, lad. Ye cannae beat yerself up forever,” Angus said.

  “I kenned somethin’ was wrong. I kenned it when I didn’t see her on the first night. An’ yet I did nothin’. An’ look at her now.” Declan’s eyes burned, rimming with furious tears, as he glanced at her back. “Her skin will be marred forever ‘cause o’ that witch.”

  “Better a scar than a life.” Angus said, “I’m goin’ tae try an’ rest. Ye should do the same. We don’ ken if we’ve lost ‘em yet.”

  “I’ll keep watch.” Declan rubbed his eyes and forehead, straining with a stress headache. “I cannot sleep now.”

  Angus nodded and made himself as comfortable as he could. Declan stared out at the small swatches of starlight surrounding the fire smoke. Since the moment he met Rosalie, seeing her clinging for her life to that log, he felt responsible for her. He felt a deep need to protect her. It was not conscious, especially at first, but as he grew to know and love her, the feeling deepened. Now, sitting there, holding her frail body in his arms, he swore to himself he would never let harm come to her again. No matter what happened to or between them, he would shelter her from harm. If not for love, then from responsibility and guilt. He couldn’t help but feel as if it was his fault she was in such a state. If he was faster, if he took control of the situation, she would not be laying in his arms, cut up like a lamb ready for a feast.

  Rosalie cried in her sleep, tormented by nightmares. A couple of times, she startled awake in a panic, unaware of where she was or who held her. She would struggle against him, kicking out in weak attempts at fighting her unseen attackers until Declan calmed her, cooing for her to relax and remember she was safe now in his arms.

  “Angus,” Declan called. “Angus!”

  “Wha’?”

  “She’s burnin’ with fever. Tell me wha’ to do,” Declan begged. “Help me.”

  “Calm down. ‘Tis the infection.”

  Angus sat up and leaned over the lass. Her hair stuck to her clammy face and skin took on a pale gray hue, beading with sweat.

  “I’ll be back.”

  Declan opened his mouth to protest, but Angus disappeared before he had the chance. He heard the sound of one of the horses taking off into the distance. All while Declan waited, it seemed as if time stood still. He hung in a moment of nervous anticipation, praying her condition would not worsen before Angus’s return.

  Angus returned with the water jugs filled. “We’ll stay here ‘til her fever breaks,” he said, using a piece of torn cloth to cool her head with the fresh stream water. “’Sides, the horses need a break, lest we run ‘em to the grave.”

  Three days passed before Rosalie was strong enough to move. Even then, Declan could see the pain she bore through. Pride mingled with the sadness he felt at seeing her. The longer he grew to know her, the more he noticed her strength and determination.

  “We should head out today,” Rosalie said, looking up at the sun.

  “I think ye should rest a little longer, lass.” Declan tucked her hair behind her ears and kissed her forehead.

  “I’m ready.” She gnawed at the inside of her bottom lip. “I keep thinkin’ about Magda. If there’s a chance at sayin’ goodbye, I want it.”

  “Aye, we can leave,” he rubbed her shoulders, now covered in one of his shirts. “If fer a moment ye feel weak or need tae stop, jus’ say the word, an’ we’ll make camp fer the night.”

  That night, after a long day of riding, they made camp. Angus fell asleep almost immediately, not even making it through the evening meal. Declan pulled Rosalie into him, snatching her up as she walked by. She burst into light giggles.

  “Declan!”

  “It’s good tae hear ye laugh,” he smiled.

  They made eye contact, and Rosalie’s smile faded. Declan could see she was nervous, the desire and anticipation building inside her. He leaned to kiss her and hesitated, letting the longing build as he brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

  Excitement ran up and down his arms, standing the hairs on end. He was careful not to touch her back, keeping his hands low. Her smell was intoxicating and wild—part her and part herb and part mountain air. He could feel her tremble before caving and pressing her lips against his.

  With her first kiss, it was as if a flood gate opened. It was as if someone let out a pack of hungry, primal creatures. They’d spent so many nights apart thinking of each other and their moment in the heather that now, they attacked one another with wild abandon.

  Declan’s heart raced as he met Rosalie’s demanding kisses. His hands flew into her wild hair, feeling the soft curls slip between his fingers. He tightened his grip, pulling gently at the nape of her neck. Her lips issued a soft moan, and her teeth nibbled at his bottom lip, hardening his member.

  It was difficult to breathe as their hands explored one another, stroking and pawing. After so much deprivation, they kissed as if it may be their last chance. When Rosalie pulled away, gasping for b
reath, he tried to pull her back.

  She grinned a mischievous grin and whispered, “I think Angus is fakin’.”

  Declan snapped his head towards the bear of a man. Sure enough, Angus started snoring the moment Declan looked over. Declan laughed at the apparent cover up before looking back at Rosalie. Their breaths mimicked each other, short and quick, trembling with desire.

  “Cannae we?” Declan leaned in and kissed her neck.

  Rosalie cooed, “Och.” She took in a sharp inhale. “We have plenty o’ time.” She shuddered as he nibbled on her ear. “Yer goin’ tae drive me mad, Declan.” She pushed him away.

  Declan rubbed his throbbing member through his pants. He let out a dramatic sigh of acceptance and pulled her into him. The tall Highlander squeezed her as tight to his body as he could without hurting her, kissing the part in her hair and her eyelids and cheeks until she giggled.

  Each night was the same, filled with long talks and passionate kisses edging on the brink of completely losing control.

  Rosalie amazed Declan. He knew she was still in pain, and yet she never complained. He did whatever he could to make her blush or smile. He discovered her favorite flowers and made a habit of gathering them for her whenever possible. It made him proud and filled him with overwhelming joy to see her decorate her long hair with the blossoms and to cherish them as if he’d blessed her with elegant gowns and jewelry.

  There came a day well enough into their journey home for Rosalie’s shallower of cuts to heal almost completely. Declan could sense something was on her mind. Rosalie bit her lip.

  “What is it?” Declan asked.

  “What’ll happen tae me? Ma community will carry on withou’ me this winter.”

  “I tol’ ye, ye’ll come with me.”

  “An’ then?”

  Declan blushed. He thought it was obvious; he wanted Rosalie. Each day he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but it never seemed the right time.

  “An’ then you’ll live with me.”

  Rosalie was silent. Declan could sense the tension; something was bothering her.

  “Talk to me, Rosie.”

  Rosalie looked, and when she saw Angus up ahead, she spoke, “An’ what, I’m expected tae marry you or work fer you?”

  That cut Declan. The way she mentioned marriage as if it was an obligation, hurt him. He thought she felt the same, and it brought doubt into him and set off his Scottish temper to blanket the pain. He remained silent.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s jus’ everyone’s been tellin’ me what to do, an’ I’m at a point where I dinnae ken who tae trust anymore. I feel like the world has turned against me o’ late, an’ I dinnae ken what I’m ready for just yet.”

  “Ye don’t trust me?” Declan’s voice rose. His skin burned, “After all I did fer ye! Travelin’ miles to save ye! Riskin’ me neck, an’ ye say you dinnae trust me now!”

  “It’s not like that!” Rosalie’s mouth hung open.

  “Aye,” He straightened his back to put some space between them, “No’ like that. Tell me how it is then, Rosalie. Ye jus’ figure ye’d make me fall fer ye, string me along an’ use me then?”

  Declan could not help but feel offended. It shook his security, his faith in them. The thought that she might just be using him because she was all out of options terrified him.

  “No! I swear, ‘tis no’ like that,” Rosalie started to cry. “It’s jus’ everythin’ has happened so fast. An’ everyone’s tellin’ me where to go an’ when. I have no control over anythin’ in my life. An’ you! No one asked ye tae save me, ye stubborn arse! If yer goin’ tae hol’ it over my head like tha’, then,” she was working herself up, “then, ye should o’ jus’ left me.”

  “Oh, aye! I’m the stubborn arse! I’m givin’ ye all that I can, Rosie!” He was furious, blinded by his hurt and anger. The words flew from his mouth with little thought. “An’ what was I supposed to do, jus’ leave ye there! If ye had listened tae me in the first place, ye wouldn’t be hurt! If ye would’ve listened tae me, we’d be halfway to yer home now! But I’m the stubborn arse, huh? Yer actin’ like a spoilt wee bairn!”

  The look Rosalie gave Declan at this made him immediately regret his words. She cut through him with an icy-cold gaze, her mouth set into a firm line. That single look inspired both fright and reverence. Still, he was not ready to admit defeat or back down. He tried his best to hide how she shook him.

  Night had fallen, the days shortening with the approach of winter. Woods had closed in around them over a kilometer back. Up ahead, Angus skidded to a halt. Declan’s senses perked up as he hurried to see what was happening.

  “Shh,” Angus said.

  They strained. Rosalie, despite her anger, shrank back against the protection of Declan’s arms. Something was there in the bushes, just beyond the reaches of their vision.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Get behind me,” Declan whispered. Rosalie scrambled to swing herself around Declan without unseating him. “Look in the bags fer anythin’ we can use.”

  Their swords sang as they pulled from their sheaths. Rosalie tried to remain focused despite the pressure building in her head and her shaking hands. She pulled the small gift Evelyn packed for Declan and found the package to contain a collection of stones and dried herbs. Her attention snapped up when she saw movement behind them.

  “Enoch?” Rosalie gasped, almost dropping the parcel in shock.

  Declan whipped his horse around at the sound of Rosalie’s cry. She gripped to the saddlebags and his shirt, trying to keep on the horse. Her leg slipped. Enoch’s horse whinnied before he charged towards Declan. She clung to the side of the horse, trying to keep on until she realized how her position restricted Declan’s ability to counter any attacks.

  Rosalie looked behind her. There was a bit of a drop, and if Angus’s horse backed up, it might trample her. Gripping Evelyn’s good luck charm, which Declan had passed to her, the young woman took a deep breath and threw herself as far from the horses as she could. Her body hit the ground, knocking the air from her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was lay there, pain searing through the cuts on her back.

  Declan turned to her, his free hand reaching out, hoping to grasp her before she fell from him. In that split moment, Enoch charged forward, and two other men revealed themselves, flanking Angus. Rosalie tried to collect herself as a clamor of steel, and the screams of horses filled the air. Pushed by Enoch’s attack, Declan’s horse tried to escape, nearly slamming one of its massive hooves into her chest. Rosalie rolled, barely escaping being crushed by the weight of the animals around her.

  The young woman managed to scramble to a safer position. Her mind was in chaos, taking in the three men. The shock of seeing Enoch shook her more than if it were a stranger. For a moment, all she could do was try to breathe as she watched the fight. The two men entering from the trees were on foot, but that did not stop them from taking swings at Angus’s horse. The cries of the steed in pain with each slash of the broad sword, cut through Rosalie, chilling her blood.

  Angus did his best to brunt their attacks, but the height difference made it nearly impossible for him to land a blow not easily blocked. Declan and Enoch were locked. Rosalie could see the intensity in their eyes as they danced around each other, blocking and attacking in tandem. She could tell by the hatred and focused stares that they were oblivious to the world around them.

  Angus’s horse stumbled and screamed. The sound of hearing such a magnificent creature in such pain was enough to snap Rosalie back into action. At first, she felt helpless, small, and unarmed in the darkness. Her mind cleared as instinct took over.

  A memory came to the forefront of her mind: young and scared in the wilderness with Magda; they’d encountered a lone wolf. Magda taught her how to make and use a shepherd’s sling. Rosalie ripped a strip of cloth from her shirt and used the packaging and contents of Evelyn’s gift to form a rough cup. The stones within the charm were smooth and river-worn.
She placed a blue one—almost the size of a small egg—into the cup and swung it above her head.

  The sling whistled a battle cry before the rock flew. Rosalie almost cried out with joy when she saw the stone smack one of Angus’s assailants in the head. It was not enough. Any pride or hope it brought her faded instantly. The other man, fueled by his anger, cut the tendons on the back of the horse’s legs. Rosalie reloaded her weapon in time to watch Angus’s horse collapse under its weight.

  “Get the girl!” Enoch screamed.

  Rosalie managed to pelt the men with three stones, allowing Angus to free himself from the horse. The weight pinned his leg to the ground, the horse kicking and screaming against the truth of its condition. It looked grim. He needed help. Rosalie closed her eyes as one of the men raised its blade. She was grateful when the horse’s cries silenced.