Nay. She would not let herself be distracted. Not by Duncan’s soft kisses, or anything else. She could not let herself be distracted. There were English on their way here, a battle to be fought, and she would not let Duncan of Dunlairig distract her from her goal: to kill as many English as she could, to avenge her mother’s death, and Myles’s.
She stilled, her breath coming harsh and ragged, even as he continued to nibble at her lips, to pull her hard against the evidence of his own desire.
“Stop,” she said against his mouth. “Duncan”—she turned her head away—“I said, stop.”
DUNCAN HEARD HER speaking but the words did not cut through the sharp desire that drove him. Her mouth was like nectar, sweet, making him greedy for her taste. Her body, something he had known had grown softer with a woman’s curves, was a revelation: soft where she pressed against him, warm, with a scent that told him his was not the only desire between them.
And then the word stop filtered into his brain, and he realized with it she had gone still.
Duncan released her so fast she almost stumbled as she immediately put distance between them, the soft mountain air cooling his blood just enough for him to make sense of what had just happened. “I am sorry, Scotia. I did not mean to kiss you.”
She swallowed and he saw her fingers tremble ever so slightly. He was gratified to see the glaze of desire still in her eyes even as he was surprised at the passion that had burst to life between them. But now was not the time to wonder how or why that passion existed.
“It cannot happen again. I do not want that to ever happen again. There will be no trysting, Duncan, not with you. Not with anyone. I’ll not be distracted by . . .” She swallowed and raised her chin. “Do you understand?”
He nodded. “Aye, and I agree. Nothing good can come of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, viciously scraping it back from his face. “Shall I find another to train you?”
She looked at him. “Nay. I do not want anyone else knowing of my training until I am ready to fight. Can you train me without . . .”—she waved a hand back and forth between them—“this?”
“I can. I will. But to be clear, ’twas not me doing all the kissing.”
Scotia’s face blushed a becoming dark pink, and for a moment he thought she meant to deny that she had kissed him back with a fervor to match his own, but then she gave a quick nod and looked him in the eye. Pride that she accepted her part in the kiss mingled with his cooling desire, heating it up once more.
“You were not,” she said, her voice cool and controlled though the tremble was still in her fingers, “at least not at the end. I will not kiss you again, either.”
They stood facing each other in awkward silence until at last he could stand it no more. “We should return to the caves. Nicholas needs to ken how you found the child. This knowing of yours might be of use to the clan.”
“Nicholas will not believe me,” she said, licking her lower lip and reminding him of the softness of it against his own.
He closed his eyes so he could not see her and silently berated himself for wanting to kiss her again.
“I will make him,” he said. “I will tell him how you found Maisie, how you knew where she was, and that you have had other knowings.”
The look on her face when she had been about to speak of one of those knowings returned to his mind. What could she know that would make her run away from him or, more likely, run from herself? Whatever it was that had spooked her, she seemed to have put it away wherever she put things she did not wish to think about. So perhaps kissing her had been the right thing to do after all, distracting her from harsh memories by rousing her desires.
His kiss had roused her desires? ’Twas something to ponder later, for now they needed to tell Nicholas of her skill.
“What are you smiling about?” she demanded.
“You and your secret skill.” He hadn’t realized he was smiling, but since he was he let it grow. “Let us away to the caves. There is a chief to convince that we have a powerful new weapon in our coming battle.”
“Me? I am no weapon.”
“Och aye, lassie, you are, in more ways than you ken.”
She narrowed her eyes, and settled her fists on her hips. “What do you mean by that?”
He wiped the smile off his face and set off for the caves, letting her trail behind him. She had skill as a warrior, nascent, but growing. She had an uncanny knowing that made her a far better tracker than he was, and he still did not ken the breadth and depth of that particular skill—’twould add a facet to their training that he had not anticipated. And she had befuddled his mind with her vulnerability and her strength.
But the lassie had pride enough for ten warriors, and he feared, if he said all of that to her, that fierce pride might overtake the lessons in humility and honor he had been trying to subtly instill in her. He did not wish to stoke that particular fire.
“Duncan,” she said, “what is your hurry? Tell me what you mean.”
She grabbed his sleeve and deftly turned him so he came to an immediate stop facing her. The familiar snap in her eyes was softened by . . . doubt? Uncertainty?
He sighed, knowing he could not lie to her. He chose his words with great care. “I mean only that you are proving yourself equal to the task of becoming a warrior, and now you have revealed a skill that no one else has.”
“No one? Surely you ken things just as I do.”
“Nay, I do not. Do you think it would have taken me so long to find you as you trained if I had this knowing? Do you think I would depend upon tracks and bits of broken plants and overturned moss when I must find someone?” He cocked one straight dark eyebrow at her since over the ten-and-eight years of her life she was often the one he tracked. “If I could but know where my prey was, the way you kent where Maisie lay hidden, I would have need of none of those clues.”
He could see his words sinking in, and then she grinned. For a moment he thought she meant to kiss him again, too, but instead she strode past him.
“Well, haste ye on, then, sluggard! This is my way into the battle. We’ve a chief to convince!”
He shook his head, knowing he had not succeeded in keeping her pride out of it. He could only hope that Nicholas would not tarnish it too badly if he did not believe them.
SHOUTS AND WAR cries echoed through the moonless night, raising Lord Sherwood’s hackles as he crouched in the dark with his men. How could the barbarian Scots see to attack the English camp in the inky darkness? He’d forbidden any fires, any lanterns, any candles after last night’s attack when the ghastly Highlanders had managed to kill several of his detachment and injure several more, somehow sneaking past the doubled guard keeping watch.
A Highlander pelted toward Sherwood in the dark, seeming to form out of nothing, screaming and shrieking like a banshee as he wheeled his two-handed sword to the left and the right around him as he ran, then disappearing into the night again without engaging. He could not tell if it was one man who did this or many, for they seemed to come from all directions, though not all at once. It was as if the Highlanders sought to confuse and rile more than to kill. The craven bastards had kept up this odd attack for hours, sometimes waiting so long between forays that the English were sure they had abandoned the game, only to rampage around the English encampment again, keeping them all awake, letting the fatigue grow.
Weariness from their rough passage on the ships had already slowed the detachment’s progress into the Highlands. The arguing amongst his detachment was rapidly getting beyond his control. Sleep-deprived tempers grew more and more combustible as bellies went empty, or nearly so, yet another day, for the few crofts they had come across had been abandoned, all food and drink missing with the crofters. As the Highlanders withdrew before the sky even began to lighten, as if they knew the exact moment the first wan light of day would break the night sky and turn it a leaden grey, Sherwood made his decision.
“Set the watches about the encampment,” he sai
d to his second in command. “Bury any who have not survived the night, and have the cooks prepare anything they can. Anyone not on watch is to sleep. We shall meet the Highlanders here again tonight, rested and ready for them, and on the morrow we shall continue on for Glen Lairig.”
His second strode into the camp bellowing orders while Sherwood climbed up on a large boulder and scanned the countryside around him, planning his own surprises for the Highlanders.
Tonight he would turn the darkness to his advantage.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SCOTIA DID NOT slow down as she made her way to the caves. In spite of the aches and fatigue settling into her body, ’twas all she could do not to sprint back.
Her mind raced with the implications if her ability really could be used as a weapon. If she and Duncan could convince Nicholas that her knowing, something that she had not understood was unique to her, was of use in the coming battle, it would not matter if she had time to complete her training as a warrior. It would not matter that she was not a Guardian. The chief and the Guardians would need her to be part of the battle to rid them of the English. ’Twould still be up to the Guardians to figure out how to keep the rest of the English out of the Highlands, but this latest force would be done for.
She tripped over a tree root, letting loose an epithet worthy of a warrior as she fought to keep her feet. Duncan caught her arm, righting her just before she fell.
“Slow down. ’Twill help nothing if you kill yourself tumbling down the ben.”
Scotia pulled her arm out of his grip and slowed her pace just enough to mind where she put her feet. It irritated her that he was right, and that his touch, his nearness, pulled her attention back to their kiss. She had meant to ask him why he kissed her, but she didn’t really want to know. Just as she didn’t want to know why she had reacted as she had, kissing him back when she had intended to bite him and free herself. She did not need answers to either question because it would never happen again. She would not be distracted from her goal by anyone.
No more kissing, she admonished herself. No lads to distract her, especially not Duncan, who had always been like an annoying older brother to her. Though she had to admit there had been nothing remotely brotherly about that kiss. Heat started to gather low in her stomach again.
Nay, she must focus. She could not think of Duncan that way. ’Twould be of no purpose, for he was clearly as caught by surprise at the intensity of their kiss as she was. Neither of them wanted to see where that path might lead.
He was her teacher, nothing more. He would train her. He would help her convince Nicholas that she was of use in the coming battle.
“Do you truly believe Nicholas and the council will let me go into battle because of this knowing?” She threw the question at him over her shoulder, but before he could respond a flash of knowing stopped her cold, and he almost ran into her. Her first thought was that her imagination was busy today, but then she realized this was another knowing, and if it was true, their allies needed help. As soon as she’d accepted what she knew another flash sped her feet again.
“Scotia?” Duncan called from behind her. “What is it?” But she did not have breath enough to spare to answer him.
“Nicholas?” she yelled as she skidded to a stop in the clearing near the largest of the cookfires. “Rowan, Jeanette! Where are you?”
Rowan stepped out of the dark maw of the main cave, wiping her hands on her skirts. “You bellowed, cousin? Jeanette is tending to the bairn. I’ve sent lads and lasses out to let the other searchers know the bairn was found. They should be back soon . . .” She was smiling until she really looked at Scotia, then at Duncan. Rowan turned back to the cave and summoned Jeanette immediately.
Jeanette came out, blinking in the soft light of the late afternoon. “Maisie will be fine, if that is what you are wanting to know,” she said. “You made quick work of finding her, Duncan.”
“’Twas Scotia who found her,” Duncan said, looking around the clearing.
“Scotia?”
Scotia waved a hand to silence everyone. “Where is Nicholas? I have news that he will need.”
“News? What news?” Jeanette asked. Several women, including Ceit with Maisie still sniffling in her arms, stepped up behind Jeanette, their faces unwelcoming but curious.
“’Tis news for the chief and Guardians,” Scotia said, scowling at the other women.
Jeanette looked behind her and must have said something, for the women melted back into the darkness of the cave. She led the way to the council circle, Rowan behind her with Scotia and Duncan bringing up the rear. ’Twas as far away as one could get from the main cave and still be in the clearing.
“Nicholas is still out searching for Maisie. What news have you, sister?” Jeanette asked.
Scotia stood mute, once more doubting the knowledge she had. She was sure Jeanette and Rowan would scoff at her knowings.
“Whatever it is, Scotia, tell us,” Duncan said quietly. “Tell us what you know.” The subtle emphasis on the last word was lost on Rowan and Jeanette, but she heard it and took courage from his belief.
“Lord Sherwood, the English soldier with the white lock of hair Jeanette saw, the one Nicholas said he knows, is setting up a trap for our allies who have been harrying his detachment as they travel here from the shore. They must be warned before they attack again tonight.”
Rowan and Jeanette simultaneously asked, “What?” and “How do you ken this?”.
“Where?” Duncan asked. “Do you know where?”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the flash of knowing she had received. “Nay, not exactly, but they are not yet in the mountains.”
“And ’tis tonight the trap will be sprung?” he asked.
She nodded, carefully examining the knowing again. “Aye, tonight. ’Tis as if I know Sherwood’s thoughts . . . at least this thought. Do you think I really do?”
Duncan shook his head. “I dinna ken, but I think anything is possible. They are not in the mountains? Can you tell if they are coming by river or over land?”
She closed her eyes and groped for more information but found none. “I cannot say, but if the English were traveling on the river, they would not encamp on the shore each night, would they? Our allies would have little chance to attack them in the night if they stayed aboard boats. Besides, it would take too many boats to bring so many to Glen Lairig by water, if they could even navigate upstream and over rapids and falls.”
Duncan looked surprised at her analysis, but he was nodding slowly as his fingers drummed on his thighs. “You are right. They come overland. If they have not entered the bens yet, then they are too far away for any of us to travel, even on a fast horse, before nightfall. Then there is naught we can do to help our allies.”
“Nay, we ken this will happen. We must do something, else what is the use of this gift?” she demanded, her gut twisting painfully at the idea that even with her knowledge they were powerless to do anything.
“What do you mean, you ken this will happen?” Rowan asked. Scotia looked at her cousin and realized the woman was staring at her as if she’d grown another head.
“I ken it . . . I know it.”
“Are you getting visions like Jeanette?”
“Nay. I . . .” Scotia looked over at Duncan, unsure how to present this to them.
“She knows, Scotia does,” he said. “She kens things none of us do.”
Rowan started to speak but Jeanette cut her off before she got a single word out.
“’Tis an odd way to phrase this: She kens things none of us do.” She stepped in front of Scotia and took her hands. “What sorts of things do you ken that we do not, my sister?” Her voice was quiet, but as intense as her iron grip, and Scotia was grateful that Jeanette, with her incredible thirst for knowledge, was not scoffing at her but seemed genuinely curious.
“She kent where Maisie was. I did not track her. Scotia just knew where to find her.”
“I do not understan
d,” Rowan said, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand as she often did when wrestling with a problem.
Scotia did not even have to look at Duncan to know he was still drumming his fingers on his thighs.
“Perhaps we should summon Nicholas and the others of the council to join us so we only have to explain this once,” he said.
Jeanette squeezed Scotia’s hands and nodded slowly. “Aye, ’tis a good idea. Rowan, I need to finish tending the cuts on Maisie so her mum will stop fretting over them. Perhaps the three of you can collect cups and make sure there is ale”—she stopped and shook her head, for they all knew the ale had burned up in the great hall fire—“water for the men when they arrive.”
“We shall need to prepare drink and food for ten . . . nay, thirteen allies who are arriving, too,” Scotia said.
Jeanette, Rowan, and Duncan all stared at her. “What?” Jeanette asked.
Just then they heard the sound of the lookout’s horn—one blast. Friend.
Scotia looked at Duncan. “Perhaps that is them now,” he said, his eyebrows raised.
“Allies?” Rowan asked. “’Tis probably just last night’s watch making their way home. What makes you think ’tis allies?”
“Aye, what makes you think ’tis allies?” Jeanette echoed.
“Another knowing that came to me right after the information about Lord Sherwood. Thirteen men. I dinna ken what clan they are from, though.”
They all looked at each other.
“We shall know soon enough if ’tis allies or the night’s watch,” Duncan said.
“Aye, we will. Jamie,” Rowan called to a lad who was bringing a load of wood into the clearing, “leave that. I need you to go down the ben toward the training area. That is where Nicholas and Malcolm were going to search. If they are not already on their way back here, fetch them immediately.”
“And any other warriors you see,” Scotia called after the retreating lad. “They will all want to be here when our allies arrive,” she said to her companions, trying to sound confident, though she was anything but.
Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) Page 6