Bedding the Highlander

by Sabrina York

  As he approached the scene, he saw four men, attempting to cart the women back to their mounts, but the women were fighting back. Connor was wrestling Kate while Heather and Elise battled the other three—two of whom were already limping and had bloodstains on their thighs.

  Apparently the lasses had their dirks, and knew how to use them.

  With a grim grin, Kirk pulled out his claymore and raised it high, bellowing as he advanced, his attention set on the tallest man, the man he knew was Connor Killin.

  With no warning, an arrow whizzed through the air and slammed into his shoulder. Agony screamed through him and he nearly lost his hold on his sword. It took all he had in him to keep it in his grasp. He reached up with his free hand and yanked the arrow out.

  The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the pure white fury he felt when he saw Connor Killin backhand Kate. Her head snapped back and she cried out, and his vision went red.

  Perhaps evisceration would be too merciful.

  Connor Killin needed to suffer.

  With a snarl, he dismounted and advanced on the men like a berserker in a rage. “Unhand my wife,” he roared.

  Connor, the fool, merely laughed. “She’s no’ your wife, Rannoch. She’s betrothed to another.”

  “She is my wife. Upon the duke’s command. And I love her.”

  “Well, that is unfortunate,” Connor said with a smirk. “It seems I’ll have to make my sister a widow today.” His hand tightened on Kate.

  “Remove your hand or I shall remove it for you,” Kirk snarled.

  “He will,” Kate said in a warning tone. “He has a terrible temper.”

  But Connor seemed unmoved. “Our father has plans for you, Kate, and you as well, Elise.” His attention fell on Heather. “No worries, little dove. I’m sure we can find a use for you, too.” He shot a smarmy grin at Kirk. “I’m taking them back to Killin Keep.”

  No. He was not.

  Kirk advanced, but was met by the three other men—two who had swords and another with that damned bow.

  He decided to take out the archer first because he was the greatest threat. He charged the man and, with one swipe of his claymore, rendered the bow useless.

  Finding himself without a weapon, the man retreated, leaving the other two with their swords aloft.

  The men had little skill and were clumsy in their attacks. But there were two of them. Kirk met one thrust with a heady clang and beat the man back with a downward swing. He swiped at the other on every alternate movement when the man came at him. He knew he was outmanned, but he was not outmatched.

  It wouldn’t be long before he would be able to fatigue these bastards, and then he would—

  He winced as something hard hit his back.

  “Och. Sorry!” a female voice warbled.

  He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see his sister and Elise lobbing missiles—stones, apparently—at his opponents.

  Another hit him.

  “You are no’ helping,” he snapped.

  But then a rock hit one of the men he was fighting on his balding pate with an ominous thump. His eyes crossed and with a groan, he crumpled to the ground. Another stone hit the other warrior in the chest.

  With a snarl, the man whirled toward the women, which was just the opening Kirk needed. He caught the man in the back of his leg, slicing a tendon. The man squealed like a pig and fell to the ground as well.

  Kirk turned to the last of them, the one he really wanted to gut.

  Connor Killin.

  He stilled as he realized Connor held Kate against him with a dirk to her neck.

  “Careful, Rannoch. We wouldna want a bloodletting,” he said with a vile grin.

  That smirk lit a wildfire in Kirk’s belly, but he held his position and studied the situation, looking for a way to weaken Killin’s position.

  He needed to get Kate out of his arms, away from that knife. But how?

  He’d forgotten who his wife was.

  Kate was no wilting flower. She’d been born and raised in Killin Keep. She’d learned a thing or two.

  Like how to use an elbow. And, apparently, a knee.

  Kirk had experienced the former, and was very glad he’d never experienced the latter.

  In a well-practiced move, Kate gored Connor on the side in which he held the knife. When he gasped and released his hold a fraction, she turned around, faced him, and planted her knee squarely between his legs.

  Connor went cross-eyed and slumped to the ground, and Kate ran to Kirk.

  Ah, God. It as glorious having her in his arms again. Safe. Secure. Clinging to him.

  He kissed her. Couldn’t help it. Set his mouth on hers and consumed her. God, he loved her. He needed her. He—

  “He’s getting away,” Heather said.

  Kirk raised his head to see Connor and his minions remounting their horses.

  As he pounded away across the lea, Connor bellowed, “This is no’ the last you’ll hear of this!” To which Kate sniffed.

  While he was relieved, Kirk was still overwhelmed with a vengeful wrath. He desperately wanted to hie after the bastards and finish the job, but he had the women to consider. They’d had a horrible fright.

  Beyond that, the pain in his shoulder was blinding and his head was spinning. He doubted he could even mount his horse.

  He stumbled and Kate caught him, which was rather ludicrous, because he was a fully grown man and she was a wee lass. As his adrenaline waned, so did his strength. He staggered to the side of the road and sat with a thump. Even that seemed too much, so he lay back and closed his eyes while the world whirled around him.

  “Darling? Are you all right?” an angel at his side asked.

  “Fine,” he mumbled, but she didn’t seem to hear.

  “Kirk. Kirk.” Someone shook his shoulder and he groaned in pain. “Please! Talk to me!”

  But he couldn’t make his lips move. Not to save his life.

  Just before the darkness fell, he opened his eyes to see a vision hovering over him. He had enough strength to reach up and caress her face, that beautiful, precious thing. And then, everything went black.

  Kate’s blood went cold as Kirk’s hand fell away from her cheek and his eyes rolled up in his head. No. No. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be.

  She frantically searched for a pulse at his neck, and relief flooded her when she felt a faint thrum. She turned to Elise and said, “Take the horse back to the castle. Get help.”

  To her annoyance, Elise cocked her head and said, “No need.”

  But then Kate glanced down the hill and saw a coterie of riders heading for them. It took a moment to realize it was the hunting party.

  “Why are they riding so slowly?” she snapped. “Tell them to hurry up.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Wave your arms.”

  Bluidy hell. Did she have to do everything?

  She returned her attention to Kirk, set her palm on his forehead and grimaced. He was cold, clammy. His skin had a disturbing tinge.

  Kate took a deep breath. She couldn’t live if anything happened to him.

  Oh, it had been horrible, being held in her brother’s unrelenting grasp, not knowing if she would ever see the man she loved again. At the time, she couldn’t have imagined anything worse.

  But this was worse. Much, much worse.

  This was terrifying.

  She stared down at her husband’s face through a veil of tears. She’d never felt so helpless, vulnerable, or lost.

  She would give anything to have him open his eyes and smile at her. Or glower at her. She would give anything to keep him.

  When Kirk’s brother rode up with the hunting party in tow, she allowed Heather and Elise to speak with them. She could not leave Kirk’s side.

  After Ben sent to the castle for the carriage, she glared at him.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben asked.

  “He’s terribly wounded,” she said, unabl
e to put all her frustrations into words. Things were taking too long. Kirk was in dire need of medical attention. To make things worse, the men were treating this incident as though it were an everyday affair, laughing and joking about the fact Kirk had swooned.

  Swooned.

  But he’d been shot. Shot.

  Kate wanted Kirk in the castle, in their bed. She wanted him healing. Now.

  “I am aware he’s been wounded,” Ben said gently.

  “He needs help.”

  “I know.”

  “This is all taking too long.”

  Ben sighed and hunkered down by her side. “I know you’re worried, lass—”

  “Worried? He’s been shot.”

  “Aye.” There was no call to chuckle. “Kirk’s been shot before. And look here. It’s in his shoulder. No vital organs. He’ll live.”

  While these words placated her a bit, his blasé attitude did not. She pulled herself to her full height and scowled down at him. “By all that is holy, Ben Rannoch, if you doona take this seriously, I will skin you alive.”

  “What ho,” the earl said with a laugh. “Your sister-in-law is a warrior woman.”

  “Of course she is,” her grandfather said. “She’s a Sabin.”

  “A regular Boudicca,” the duke added in a bored tone.

  Kate set her hands on her hips and glowered at them all. “Do not mock me,” she said in a low, rumbling tone, one that caused all the men to snap their attention to her face and widen their eyes. “I am a warrior. I am a fighter. I will kill or die for this man, and don’t you forget it.”

  Paden sobered and nodded. With a glance at Heather he said, “We would all be lucky to have such a woman at our side.”

  “Aye.” Ben nodded. “Doona worry, Kate. We all love Kirk as much as you do. We will do everything we can to ensure he heals.”

  “See that you do,” she snapped.

  The men all avoided her gaze until the carriage arrived—finally—and then they helped place Kirk on a board that had been laid between the seats. Kate insisted on riding with her husband, and none of the men objected.

  Kate assumed, by this point, that they knew better.

  The ride was far too bumpy. She held Kirk’s hand and winced with every jounce, her attention locked on his beautiful face.

  As the carriage pulled to a stop in the bailey, his lashes fluttered. As did her heart. She set her hand on his cheek and stared at him. Her pulse jerked when his eyes opened and he smiled.

  Ah. So handsome. So dear.

  “Kirk,” she whispered.

  “Did you mean what you said?” he asked in a croak.

  “I’ve said a lot of things,” she reminded him.

  “That you would kill or die for me?”

  “You heard that?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, of course I would.”

  His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Does that mean…? Do you…? Could you…?”

  Oh, Lord in heaven above. He did not know? How could he not know?

  “I love you so much it hurts,” she said. But she didn’t know if he heard her, because his eyes had closed again and his body went limp.

  Chapter 21

  Kirk awoke with a weight on his chest, but it was a delicious weight. And the scent surrounding him was heavenly. Despite his disorientation, he knew her at once.

  Kate. His Kate.

  Safe in his arms. Forever.

  “You must leave him, Kate.” The voice hovered at the edge of his consciousness. Who was the evil demon making such a revolting command, and why did she sound like his sister, Heather?

  “I canna.”

  Ah. Kate. He tightened his hold on her.

  Somewhere in the bowels of his chamber, Heather sighed. “You have to eat.”

  “He needs me.”

  “If you doona eat, you are of no use to anyone.”

  “I can eat here.”

  “You’re no’ getting any rest, darling. You need your rest.” Good God. Was Elise here, too?

  “They’re right, you know. No one would gainsay your devotion if you left to get a breath of fresh air.” Ben was here, too. Lovely.

  Kirk cracked open a lid to see if Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were in attendance as well.

  The moment he did, the woman lying on top of him squealed.

  Right in his ear.

  “Did you see that?” she cried. “Did you see that? He opened his eyes.”

  “He opened his eyes!” Heather cried.

  “He did,” Elise parroted.

  Ben gusted a sigh. “I told you he would be fine. He’s a Rannoch. A measly arrow would never kill him.”

  Kate launched herself off the bed and stormed up to Ben and waved him away. “Shoo. Just shoo.” She was such a tiny thing next to his brother, and so fierce. It made Kirk grin.

  “Look. He’s smiling,” Elise said in a beatific tone.

  Kate whirled around and stared at him. The light in her eyes made his heart swell. “Oh,” she sighed. “He is.”

  “He’s smiled before,” Ben grumbled.

  All the women glared at him.

  Kate scampered back to the bed and sat gingerly beside Kirk. “How are you feeling, my darling?” she asked.

  “Better,” Kirk croaked.

  “Water. He needs water.” Good God, the woman could bark commands. But they bore fruit. Elise brought him a cup of water and he drank greedily.

  Kate stopped him. “Not too much.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “It will make you ill.”

  Kirk frowned. “But I’m thirsty.”

  “One more sip.”

  “One more sip?” He shot a pleading look at Ben, who shrugged.

  “She’s your wife,” Ben muttered. And then—the traitor—he turned to leave the room.

  “Where are you going?” Kirk demanded.

  “Now that I know you are going to be all right, I am going to have a whisky with Paden.”

  “I want to have a whisky with Paden,” Kirk said plaintively, and started to rise.

  “No, you don’t.” Kate pushed him back down on the bed. Unfortunately, she pressed on his wound, and he howled. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” She glared at Ben. “See what you’ve done?”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Just go, will you?”

  Ben tipped his head to the side and said, “You do know I’m the laird here?” But it was a rhetorical question and one that earned three disdainful sniffs.

  “Come along, Ben,” Heather said, hooking arms with him and tugging him from the room. “We should leave these two alone.”

  “We should.” Elise set a gentle hand on Kirk’s arm. “I am so glad you are better. And thank you for rescuing us from Connor.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, though heat crawled up his cheeks. “You were all verra fierce as well.”

  “He was no’ taking us back,” Kate said, her chin set in a stubborn line Kirk knew well.

  “Nae. He was no’, my love. I would have killed him first.”

  “I would have killed him first.” She smiled, and it made his heart ping.

  “Need we debate who would have killed him deadest?” Ben asked, but Heather pushed him from the room before anyone could answer. Elise followed, gently closing the door.

  Once they were alone, Kirk stared at Kate, assailed by a sudden and unfamiliar bashfulness. It was ridiculous. She was his wife. He was her husband. There was no call to be shy.

  After a long while—an eternity of staring into each other’s eyes—she cupped his cheek and said, “I am verra happy you are no’ dead, my husband.”

  He had to grin. “Me too.” And then a memory swelled. His brow furrowed. “I remember you saying something, there by the side of the road.”

  “Aye.”

  “Something about loving me?”

  “Are you asking?”

  “I…suppose.”

  She shook her head and his mood plummeted. But then she said, “Ho
nestly, Kirk. I doona understand how men can be so dense.”

  “I’m no’ dense!”

  “You must be, if you canna see how much I love you.”

  Ah. She did. She loved him. She—

  “Why are you scowling?” he asked.

  Her scowl deepened. “Aren’t you supposed to say something now?”

  “Aye.” He stared into her eyes, linked his fingers in hers, and purred, “I’m thirsty.”

  There was no call for her to dump the water all over his head.

  “Maybe I should have left you to rot,” she muttered, and when she tried to whirl away, he grabbed her waist and wouldn’t let her go. He waited until he had her full attention and then he kissed her nose.

  “My darling Kate. I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, I think.”

  She made a face. “I looked a fright.”

  “You looked like an angel, my sweet. An angel come to steal my horse. But you stole something else.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “And what was that?”

  “Mo chridhe, my love.” He pulled her down and kissed her. “You stole my heart.”

  Her expression blossomed into something beautiful and glorious. The confidence of a woman who knew she was loved. “It was a fair trade, then, my husband,” she quipped. “Because you’ve stolen mine as well.”

  She kissed him then, gently and sweetly at first, but as the kiss deepened, their mutual passion swelled.

  To his chagrin she gasped and suddenly lurched away. He thrust out his lower lip. “Where are you going?” he pouted.

  “We canna…” She waved her hand over the bed in a vague fashion. But he was coming to know her, and all her inscrutable gestures. He knew at once what she meant and his mood soured.

  “What do you mean, we canna?”

  Her lovely visage scrunched up into a fierce glower. “You’re injured.”

  “It was only an arrow,” he insisted. And despite his injury, his passion rode high. It had been far too long since he’d had her.

  She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “We canna. I nearly lost you, my love. I canna bear the thought of injuring you further.”