Fate of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  She couldn’t hold on. She was burning. Burning. She let go. The fire roared, and she screamed Finn’s name as her climax took her, consuming her in a raging inferno of unbearable sensation.

  With a growl Finn gave one final thrust and then held himself deep inside her as he found his own release, his weight hard and delicious as it pinned her into the hay.

  Eleanor wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as the ecstasy slowly ebbed, to be replaced by a sense of satisfaction, of completeness that Eleanor had never experienced before. Finn lifted his head to look at her and for a moment they just stared at each other, saying nothing. Then Finn kissed her gently, softly on the lips before rolling onto his back and pulling her against him.

  “Eleanor,” he said, his voice low and husky. “That was...that was...”

  She lifted her head to look at him. God above, he was beautiful. She felt her heart swell. “Everything?” she offered.

  “Aye, lass,” he breathed, running his thumb across her cheek and staring into her eyes. “That was...everything.”

  FINLAY WOKE WITH A start, coming instantly alert, hand reaching for his dagger as he listened for the sound that had woken him. There it came again, a scratching outside the barn. He tensed, every muscle quivering. Then there came the unmistakable yip of a fox and he breathed out in a rush.

  He looked down to where Eleanor lay sleeping with her head against his chest. The two of them were tangled together, naked, their limbs entwined, with only Finn’s cloak thrown over them to keep out the chill. That hardly mattered. What they’d done last night had been plenty enough to keep them warm.

  Heat rose in his loins as he remembered making love to Eleanor last night. It had not been only once, but over and over again, their bodies coming together in a rush of passion and need that had left them both exhausted and breathless but sated in a way he’d never experienced before. Finn had known women. Plenty of women. But he’d never felt the all-consuming desire or the sense of utter completeness he did when he’d taken Eleanor, made her his. It felt...right, like he’d finally found a piece of himself that he hadn’t even known had been missing. Even now, as he looked at her, he felt his ardour rising, a fierce swell of desire that made his heart beat a little faster.

  She is mine, he thought fiercely, reaching down and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. I willnae let any man touch her. I will kill them if they try.

  Dawn light was beginning to seep through the gaps in the barn wall, weak and gray. Carefully, moving slowly so as not to wake Eleanor, he extricated himself from her embrace, edged over to where his clothing lay strewn about in the hay and quickly dressed. He looked back at Eleanor for a moment, then descended the ladder and padded outside into the dawn.

  Dawn was his favorite time of day. The air felt clean and fresh and the dew clinging to the grass sparkled in the early morning light. The world was so quiet, so peaceful, and seemed full of endless possibility in the pre-dawn mist. As a boy Finn had often been up and out of the castle before first light, taking only his dog for company, and not reappearing until after breakfast, much to the annoyance of his father who always admonished him about the dangers of leaving the castle without a guard.

  He scouted back along their trail and was relieved to find that the bindings on the horse’s hooves had done their job. There was barely an imprint in the ground to reveal their trail and it would take the best of trackers a good long time to find where he and Eleanor had gone. If they made good time they should reach Brigid’s Hollow today. Eleanor’s way home. By tonight, she would be gone.

  The thought made his insides contract as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

  I canna lose her, he thought. I canna.

  How was he supposed to carry on his life once Eleanor wasn’t in it?

  It doesnae matter, he told himself savagely, gripping the hilt of his dagger hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. She wishes to go home and ye made a vow to see her do that.

  And I’ll keep it, he thought resolutely. Even if it kills me.

  Chapter 15

  Eleanor slept long and deeply, the heat from Finn's body keeping her warm through the night. But some time after dawn, a chill began to creep over her and she realized he was no longer by her side. She woke with a start. Light seeped through the gaps between the boards and the air was filled with the dawn chorus of birds.

  She looked around, searching for Finn, and heard the rhythmic sound of a horse being groomed from below. A smile spread across her face and she breathed in deeply, savoring the moment, savoring this sense of utter contentment.

  Her muscles ached but it was a delicious kind of ache, a reminder of all she and Finn had become to one another last night. Heat rushed through her as she remembered their night together. Holy crap, she'd never imagined she could feel like that, that anyone could take her to the heights of ecstasy that Finn had. He seemed to know instinctively what she wanted, what she needed, and took great delight in giving her exactly that.

  Wrapping Finn's cloak around herself she crawled over to the hatch and peered over the edge. Sure enough, Finn stood in the space below, methodically grooming the horse. His shirt pulled tight over his back and shoulders every time he made a brush stroke and Eleanor couldn't help but watch, mesmerized as the contours of his body were revealed and then hidden again. His hands moved with strong, sure strokes, and she couldn't help remembering those hands on her last night.

  "Good morning, Eleanor," he said without looking up. "I wondered whether ye were going to wake this side of midday."

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. So much for sneaking up on him. Of course he'd known she was watching him.

  "What can I say? I was tired. And whose fault is that?"

  He looked up at her then, a flash of mischievousness in his emerald eyes, and Eleanor's breath caught. Did he even realize how handsome he was? How the sight of him lit an ache inside her that could only be quenched by his arms around her? By his lips on hers?

  "Aye, I'll allow ye that one. There's breakfast waiting down here when ye are dressed. Can ye manage? Or should I come and help ye?"

  There it was again, that mischievous glint, a hint of what would happen should she take him up on his offer. She almost said yes. She would love for Finn to climb up here with her and for them to pick up from where they'd left off last night. Lord, if she had her way, they’d stay in this barn forever, while the world outside could go to hell.

  But the sudden barking of a dog in the distance made her jump in alarm, reminding her of the reality of their situation, the danger.

  "What's that?"

  "Dinna worry," Finn said. "It's many miles distant and is probably a farmer's sheepdog. If it were a pack of hounds on our trail ye would know about it. There would be a whole chorus of barking. Be that as it may, it’s time we left. Get dressed. I'll ready the horse."

  Eleanor nodded and crawled through the hay to where her clothes had been strewn. She dressed as quickly as she could, pulled her fingers through her hair to brush it, then climbed down the ladder and took a quick wash from a rain barrel in the corner. Finn handed her a meager breakfast of an apple and a couple of strips of dried meat and then they were mounting up, riding from the barn, and out into the Highland morning.

  The early haze had yet to burn off and so they rode through a half-shrouded world of shifting curtains of mist that rolled along the valley bottom and poured along its edges like low-lying cloud. Dew on the grass sparkled like tear drops and a light breeze carried the scent of spring flowers. It was hauntingly beautiful and Eleanor suddenly found herself thinking of Irene MacAskill and the Fae. If any place spoke of those strange, otherworldly creatures it was this world of mist and shifting shadow.

  "What's the plan?" Eleanor asked Finn. "Which direction are we heading?"

  His arm, which circled her stomach, tightened momentarily, sending her heart fluttering. "East for a while," he said by her ear. "That way we can avoid the marshes then turn north when we reach th
e river and follow its course towards Brigid's Hollow. If all goes well we should be there by sundown."

  Eleanor nodded, suddenly unable to speak. There by sundown. By tonight she would be home. Back to where she belonged, to where everything made sense and she wasn't in constant danger. So why did she suddenly feel sick? Why did dread weigh her down like a bowling ball sitting in her stomach?

  You know why, she answered herself. Because you'll be leaving him behind. Finlay MacAuley. The man whose presence makes the world seem bigger, brighter. The man whose touch makes you feel alive. The man you're falling in love with.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, laying her hand atop Finn's where it rested on her waist. His skin was warm, his presence behind her solid and reassuring.

  How can I leave him? she thought to herself. Then, how can I not? I don't belong here. This is not my time, my place. We are from different worlds and I need to return to mine.

  Don’t I?

  FINN STRUGGLED TO CONCENTRATE. He needed all his wits about him, needed all his trackers instincts honed to a razor's edge if he was to see them both safely to Brigid's Hollow. But despite his best efforts, as they rode through the mist, following the trail that meandered along the valley's base, his mind kept wandering. How was he supposed to concentrate with Eleanor sat in front of him like this? With her weight against his chest and her hair tickling his chin? How was he supposed to think straight with the sensation of dark dread that seeped through him with each step that brought them closer to Brigid's Hollow and the moment he had hoped would never come.

  Several times he almost spoke the words aloud. They spilled onto his tongue, fighting for release. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. He bit down on them mercilessly. He had no right to ask that of her.

  Finn didn't like riding through mist. It deadened sound and made it all but impossible to spot enemies approaching. Of course, it also blinded their enemies but this didn't make Finn feel any better. He was glad when the sun rose high enough to begin burning it off, revealing the morning landscape of the Highlands.

  They'd climbed a rise and as the mist cleared it revealed a patchwork of wooded valleys and fields spreading out below, all glinting under the early morning sun. In the distance a wide river shone like a line of quicksilver.

  "It's beautiful," Eleanor breathed.

  "Aye," he replied gruffly. "It is."

  Nudging the horse on, they set off, heading for the river. They would turn north along its banks, avoiding the marshes and, if fate smiled on them, avoiding any other travelers. This area was sparsely populated and little-traveled at the best of times and the rumors of the upcoming battle would mean any traveler with a dram of sense would take a different route, avoiding this area all together. Finn hoped this would mean they had the trails to themselves.

  It was the kind of morning that came along only rarely in the Highlands. A golden morning, his mother would have called it. The kind of morning where the air smelled clean and fresh, a warm breeze stirring the leaves, the air full of the drone of bees as they bobbed along between the thick clumps of foxgloves that carpeted the valley bottoms. Despite himself, Finn found himself relaxing.

  Eleanor suddenly glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes shone and she was smiling. "That was lovely."

  "What was?"

  "That song. You were singing."

  Finn hadn't even noticed himself doing it. It had been a habit of his when he lived at Dun Ringill and his tutors had constantly admonished him for singing or humming when he should have been reading or studying his letters, but the habit was thoroughly broken when he'd become Stewart's creature. What reason did he have for such jollity in that man's household?

  "Don't stop," Eleanor said. "I was enjoying it."

  Finn raised an eyebrow then gave her a little mock-bow in the saddle. "As my lady commands." He looked around quickly but the only other creatures in sight were a hawk riding the thermals high above and a squirrel chirping at them angrily from a tree branch. He cleared his throat dramatically then threw one arm out and burst into song, loud enough to send a flock of grouse winging into the air.

  It was a drinking song, rowdy and extremely rude, and had been one of his brother Camdan's favorites. Eleanor burst into laughter, the sound as delicate as the ringing of silver bells.

  "That would go down a treat in my local pub!" she exclaimed. "Although they might be a bit shocked to hear me sing it. Teach it to me."

  "Ah, tis not a song fit for a lady's tongue," Finn replied.

  She twisted to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "And do I strike you as a lady?"

  He studied her. "Now that ye come to mention it, I'm none too sure. Maybe a little too uncouth for a lady."

  She punched his arm. "Oaf!"

  "Oaf is it? And here's me thinking ye liked me."

  Eleanor didn't reply, just looked at him.

  Finn cleared his throat. "Very well. The first verse goes like this."

  He spent the next half an hour teaching her the drinking song. She picked it up quickly and then they were both singing as they rode, her light, melodious voice a counterpoint to his own deeper one. Birds took off as they passed, a startled deer bounded away into the woods, and Finn was pretty sure they were making enough racket to wake the dead. He didn't care. For this moment, this one, joyous moment he let all his worries evaporate as he sang with the woman he loved. A fierce joy blew through him and he wanted to shout to the heavens for the pure, unadulterated happiness of it.

  The song ended and Eleanor laughed, breathless. "That was fun! Let's go again!"

  But Finn shook his head and pointed. "Nay, lass. We’re almost at the river.”

  He pointed at an outcrop of rock ahead, a jumble of black boulders that stood out against the horizon. "Beyond that we will descend into the river valley and turn north towards Brigid's Hollow."

  She nodded, sobering abruptly. "Oh. Right."

  They soon reached the outcrop and began descending a steep, switch-back trail through gorse bushes and clumps of heather into the valley where the river meandered, wide and sluggish on its way to the sea. Once they reached the bottom Finlay pulled the horse to a halt and dismounted. He spent several minutes scouting the area, senses alert, searching for any sign of enemies nearby. He found nothing. Remounting behind Eleanor, he turned the horse north, following a narrow trail that followed the contours of the river along its northern bank.

  The sky began to cloud over and it began spitting with rain. Finlay drew his cloak around the two of them and Eleanor clasped it eagerly, holding it closed with one hand and squinting ahead.

  Maybe the sound of the rain made him miss it at first. He was so intent on their trail that he paid little attention to the sluggish river moving alongside them. But when the horse suddenly snorted and swivelled his ears forward, Finn came instantly alert, yanking the horse to a halt and going very still.

  "What is it?" Eleanor asked.

  He held up a hand for silence. Aye. There it was again. Voices off to the left, in the direction of the river and the unmistakable sound of oars cutting through water.

  He swore under his breath, yanked the horse around, and quickly rode into the concealment of a bramble bush, still thick with last year’s brown leaves. He dismounted and tied up the horse.

  "Wait here," he instructed Eleanor. "I'm going to go take a look."

  "Like hell," she replied. "I'm coming with you."

  He nodded, helped her dismount, and together the two of them crept towards the river bank, keeping low to avoid being seen. They hunkered down at the water's edge and peered through the branches of lush vegetation.

  The sound was clearer now, the crack of shouted orders and the slap of oars on water. Finn stared at the bend in the river ahead. The minutes ticked by, Finn's sense of unease growing moment by moment, until finally he spotted a flotilla of boats rounding the bend. They were wide, flat-bottomed, more like barges, and were being rowed against the current by crews of six men, three to either side. Finn counted
eight boats in total.

  He scanned the scene with a tracker's eyes, assessing the boat's size, their crew, their cargo. When his eyes settled on what filled the boats’ decks, his eyes widened and his heart began to thump in his chest. Each boat carried three wheeled machines about the size of a small handcart that supported a long metal cylinder.

  Cannons. And stacked at the back of the boat, barrels that could only contain gunpowder and cannon shot.

  Then his eyes sprang to the man standing at the prow of the lead boat. His stomach dropped into his boots.

  Eleanor hiss suddenly. "Oh my god," she breathed. "That's Balloch."

  EVEN FROM THIS DISTANCE Eleanor could see Balloch's arrogant swagger. What was he doing here? Had he tracked them? Why was he riding ships loaded with cannon?

  She glanced at Finn. He'd gone very pale, a vein in his temple throbbing as he glared at Balloch with murder in his eyes.

  "Finn," she breathed. "What’s going on?"

  He didn't answer for a long moment. His gaze was fixed on the flotilla.

  "Holy mother of God," he breathed at last. "This is it. How could I have been so stupid?"

  "What?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm. "What is it?"

  He shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. "I should have seen it. Should have guessed. I knew something was wrong. I knew Stewart was up to something."

  He wiped a hand across his face and then looked at Eleanor. "This explains it all. Why Stewart didn't move from his manor, despite being slowly encircled by MacAuley forces. Why he seemed too confident even though he's outnumbered and outgunned. Why Balloch kept dropping hints of a 'secret mission' he'd been sent on. North of here the river splits and a tributary goes west, through the Vale of Morwen and right behind the MacAuley lines. Sitting there all this time at his manor was a ruse to draw the MacAuley lines south. He's flanking them, moving cannon upriver to attack them from behind." His face paled even further and his voice became a hoarse whisper. "He's going to hit the MacAuley forces with cannon fire. They'll be torn to shreds."