Highland Storm

by Ranae Rose

  When Briar finally calmed, Alexander rose and wrapped his arms around her, remarkably strong and impossibly warm.

  “What are ye doing?” she demanded, her heart speeding as he lifted her from the ground, though whether it was from alarm or excitement she wasn’t quite sure.

  “Gettin’ ye out of the rain,” he answered stoically.

  Isla winced as something small and hard hit the side of her head, followed by another, and another, and another…

  Hail, as if it couldnae get any worse…

  “Just put me on my horse,” she said in as commanding a tone as she could muster.

  “Your horse is lame,” he replied, his voice as firm as his body.

  Isla eyed Briar askance and saw that he pranced nervously on three of his feet, favouring the fourth that had lost its shoe. What had he done to it in that mud hole? Resolve-weakening heat radiated from the Gordon’s chest, even through his soaked shirt, as he carried her. He casually seized Briar’s reins and made a clicking sound to his own horse, and the great sorrel beast followed, ambling along beside him with its reins hanging free. Isla eyed it, impressed, and wished Briar could have behaved half so well and saved her this whole mess.

  The Gordon finally lowered her to the ground when they’d crossed the treacherously muddy road and found shelter at the edge of the forest at its side. There, the boughs of pines, rowans and oaks deflected most of the hail. Isla watched curiously from where the Gordon had deposited her against the base of a pine as he tethered both of their horses to trees and began to strip small branches off a nearby aspen. When he’d gathered an armful, he started weaving them in and out of the branches that hung over her head, creating a thicker roof of foliage that sheltered her completely from the hail. She was reluctantly grateful as balls of ice glanced off his shoulders and bounced to the pine needles below. He didn’t flinch, even when they struck his face and angry red patches sprung up on his cheek where he’d been hit. But then, if he built the shelter a thousand times and was struck by lightning in the process, it still wouldn’t right the Gordons’ wrongs. She glared at him stubbornly as the coppery scent of blood teased her nostrils, a phantom that was gone as soon as she’d sensed it.

  “So, what’s your name?” he asked, settling casually to the ground beside her when he’d finished.

  She eyed him warily, pushing visions of bloodstained tartan from her mind. He was a bit too close for comfort—the heat that radiated from his body was warming her again, and highly disconcerting memories of his strong arms plagued her. But if she asked him to move any further away, he’d be exposed to the hail. She couldn’t ask him to do that—not when he’d built the shelter for her in the first place, even if he was a Gordon. And not when she needed his body beside her own—for its heat, of course.

  “It’s Isla. Isla Forbes.”

  He nodded, sending droplets of water flying from a few stray, dark locks. “I’m Alexander,” was all he said. There was no need to add ‘Gordon’—Isla was anything but likely to forget his surname. An awkward silence stretched between them, during which Briar laid back his ears and pawed the ground as another loud peal of thunder sounded.

  “And what are ye doin’ ridin’ out here on your own in a storm?” Alexander eventually asked.

  “I didnae ken it was goin’ to storm,” she replied, eyeing his soaking shirt, which still clung to his lean, hard body like so much wet paper. “And ye didnae ken, either, from the looks of ye.”

  He nodded. “Aye, it came quickly.”

  More silence. He gazed at her curiously and she glared back at him. “It isnae a Gordon’s business where I’m ridin’ to.”

  He eyed their surroundings and shrugged as if to say, ‘isn’t it?’

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and said nothing as she wished her cloak were dry. Alexander’s heat, significant as it was, didn’t quite penetrate the damp wool that covered her shoulders.

  Alexander rose from beneath the shelter of branches and began to walk away. Isla stared after him. Was he leaving? The idea made her feel strangely lonely, and it shamed her. She should be glad to watch a Gordon leave.

  He stopped a few yards away. When he reached the place where he’d tethered the horses, and she breathed a small sigh of relief as he bent to feel Briar’s leg. He caressed the joints and tendons with his large hands, feeling with visible tenderness for signs of injury. Though his callused fingertips were rough, his touch was clearly not. After several moments, he stood and turned again towards the shelter. Isla tried to ignore the relief that surged through her when he sat beside her, warming the space between them with his body heat.

  “I dinnae think he’s broken anythin’,” Alexander said. “It’s likely just a sprain.”

  She nodded. “Och, that’s good.” Still, she frowned. ‘Just a sprain’ or not, she couldn’t expect Briar to recover within two days. What would she tell her father when he returned? She’d have to stick with her original plan of telling him the beast had hurt himself out at pasture and hope he’d believe it.

  “What about your foot?” Alexander asked. “How’s it feel?”

  “Like it’s full of shattered glass.”

  Alexander frowned, his full lips turning down at the corners while his dark brows plunged between his blue eyes. The beginnings of panic struck Isla as his gaze came to rest on her foot. “I dinnae think it’s broken!” she lied.

  “I wouldnae be surprised if it was. That horse came down hard on it.” He reached for her foot.

  Isla jerked her leg away and gasped as white-hot pain flared in the top of her foot, as if her boot were on fire. She was afraid to move it again, and the fresh memory of agony kept her still when Alexander began to gently pry off her boot, though she was frightened then, too. When it was off, he peeled away her stocking and grasped her ankle, holding her foot slightly aloft so he could inspect it without actually touching it. Heat crept up her leg, all the way to the juncture of her thighs, as she eyed her carefully removed stocking and tried to focus on anything but the feel of his pleasantly rough fingertips against her skin. Fortunately, the throbbing pain that lit every inch of flesh below her ankle proved a rather effective distraction.

  “Now,” he said, hovering his hand over her toes, “just tell me where it hurts.” He placed his fingertips on the top of her foot and began moving them slowly, gently pressing against her bones, feeling for a break.

  “Ahh!” Isla cried. “There! Stop!” Pain flared white-hot again as Alexander bore down lightly on one of the long bones that stretched from her ankle to her toes.

  He removed his exploring hand while still holding her foot aloft and bare in the chilly air.

  “Dinnae touch me any more!” she cried, gripping her ankle in an attempt to pull it from his grasp in the least painful manner possible.

  “I fear it’s broken,” he said, brushing her hand aside and lowering her foot gently to the ground.

  “Aye,” Isla breathed, leaning back against the tree and inhaling deeply, her face surely paper-white as she turned it up to the roof of pine boughs above. “Maybe it is.”

  And I thought it couldnae get worse than when I found he was a Gordon…

  “Dinnae fash yourself,” he said, “I’ll help ye get where you’re goin’.”

  “No,” she said, “ye mustnae do that.”

  “Don’t be—”

  “I dinnae want any more help!”

  He scowled at her, his blue eyes burning. She glared back.

  “I’ll be damned if you’re not the most stubborn lass I’ve ever met,” he declared. “A Forbes to the bone, to be sure.”

  “And I’ll be damned if you’re not—”

  “Dinnae make me shut ye up again!”

  “Och, how I wish my foot wasnae broken, for then I’d use it to give ye a good kick in the—”

  Thunder crashed, obscuring the final word of her would-be threat. The angry gleam in Alexander’s eyes said he’d got the message regardless.

  “Well,
fine,” he said, rising. “I’ll leave ye and your lame nag here, and if ye die of the cold or get eaten by a wild beast, then hell slap it intae ye!” He stalked away, taking long, purposeful strides towards his horse.

  The hail had turned back to rain and was quickly re-soaking his shirt and tartan. The muscles of his back tightened slightly beneath the pathetic cover, tight with obvious agitation. She tried not to admire the way they shifted, or how smooth his stride was. She was no more successful in that than she was in quelling the unease that twisted her stomach as Alexander untied his sorrel stallion, led it out of the trees and mounted, heeling it into a trot that was rendered risky by the weather.

  Chapter Two

  Isla tipped her head back against the tree and shut her eyes. Maybe she should have left out the bit about kicking him. How would she get to where she was going? Briar was still favouring his injured foot, and she was certainly in no condition to walk, either. She opened her eyes and squinted at the road, where Alexander sat as straight in the saddle as ever, riding resolutely away. A heavy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach, and she closed her eyes again, not wanting to watch him disappear.

  She let her eyelids flutter open several minutes later, when rustling heather and the sound of a horse’s heavy breathing caught her attention. A rebellious mixture of excitement and reluctant gratitude surged through her when she saw Alexander walking towards her, leading his sorrel through the grass. Was his horse hurt now, too? It seemed to be walking normally, but that was without having to carry a rider’s weight. Perhaps it had slipped and injured itself—the idea was not far-fetched, considering how quickly and carelessly he’d ridden through the slick mud. Would they be trapped here together as the storm raged, side-by-side under the shelter he’d built? The idea caused something very like hopeful excitement to rise up in Isla, even as she struggled to feel disgusted by it.

  “Damn it!” Alexander snapped after he’d tethered his horse beside Briar again. “I cannae abandon an injured lass, especially on such a wretched day!”

  He scowled at Isla, who sat staring up at the fuming Highlander from beneath the shelter he’d built over her. He stood tall and angry, scarcely a pace away from her, and she was alarmingly close to being able to see up his kilt. That mortifying thought kept her from immediately producing a scathing reply.

  “Dinnae give me the bit about where you’re goin’ bein’ none of my business again, because I’m takin’ ye there,” he continued, fixing her with a firm glare. It was so intense that she feared his blue eyes might bore right through her and into the trunk of the pine behind her.

  “All right!” she said, remembering how it had felt to be left alone beneath the pines with her broken foot and lame horse, all the while trying very hard not to recall how warm and strong his arms had felt. “It’s just up the road a bit.”

  She’d barely finished speaking when Alexander stooped quickly to pick her up, swinging her into his arms, his hair dripping onto her cloak and the front of her dress. He marched over to his horse and wasted no time in depositing her onto its back, just behind the saddle.

  “Ah!” she cried as her foot bumped a stirrup. Her foot was still bare, as she had tucked her boot and stocking into her cloak, unwilling to force her throbbing foot back into them.

  “Sorry,” Alexander said shortly as he swung into the saddle, holding Briar’s reins in one hand and gathering his horse’s in the other.

  He didn’t sound especially sorry, but Isla let it go, wrapping her arms reluctantly around his waist. His soaked shirt counteracted any drying that had occurred in her own clothing, but his body was still warm beneath his wet garments. He heeled his horse—miraculously managing not to jostle her foot—while towing Briar by the reins, at the sorrel’s side.

  “Stop here,” Isla said, about ten minutes later.

  “What? Here?” Alexander asked. He eyed the surrounding wilderness incredulously. “There’s nothin’ but pines and heather here.”

  “Aye, here,” she repeated firmly.

  “Dinnae play games with me, Isla.”

  “I have some business in the forest. Leave me at its edge.”

  “What business could a lass like you have in the forest?”

  “It isnae any of your business, Alexander Gordon.”

  “Ye’ll make it my business if ye want me to let ye off this horse.”

  She straightened as best she could, leaning away from Alexander’s back and regretting the absence of his body heat at once. She shivered, but refused to let her teeth chatter as she spoke.

  “You’ve no right to keep me on this horse.”

  “I’ve no right to abandon a crippled lass to her doom,” he countered.

  “I amnae crippled!”

  “Aye, ye are, at least for now—and so is your horse. And a sorry pair ye’d make sopping at the edge of the forest alone together!”

  Isla scowled at Alexander’s muscular back, narrowing her eyes as if her gaze could sear a hole through his shirt and burn the skin between his shoulder blades. An awkward silence ensued.

  “Are ye meetin’ a lover?” he finally asked, breaking the quiet spell.

  “What?” Her cheeks burnt as if they’d been set aflame. “Of course not!”

  His voice was steady, but the tips of his ears went distinctly pink. “I couldnae think of many other things a lass would be doin’ out in that Godforsaken forest. I only thought that if there were another man here to care for ye, I could go and leave ye be.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to lie. “There isnae another man.”

  “Well, then, I mustnae leave ye to yourself.” He swung out of the saddle and offered her a hand. “I’ll accompany ye into the woods.”

  She gazed down at his supine palm and outstretched fingers, ashamed to find herself tempted to accept his offer. “I—I must go alone,” she stammered.

  “Why?” he asked, his vivid blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. The small change seemed to intensify his gaze, and Isla feared again that he’d see straight through her, past her stalwart refusal to explain herself and right into the fear that had driven her to this ‘Godforsaken’ place. The idea was irrational, but it still made her stomach flip-flop unsettlingly.

  She eyed the tree line warily. “It’s personal.”

  “I willnae interfere with ye, so long as ye dinnae do anythin’ to endanger yourself.”

  “It isnae dangerous.”

  “Then let me come with ye.” His blue gaze locked with hers, imploring, stubborn…maybe even more stubborn than she was. That particular realisation was just as disconcerting as it was surprising.

  Her resolve wavered beneath his gaze. The throbbing pain in her foot and the driving rain didn’t help, either. She couldn’t wait to get out of the open and take advantage of what shelter the forest canopy offered. “Do ye promise ye willnae interfere, or…or think me a fool?”

  “I already think ye the most foolish lass I’ve ever met.”

  She scowled and withdrew the hand she’d been about to place in his. Damn it all, why hadn’t she lied and told him she was meeting a lover?

  “Och, come on!” he said. “Do ye really care what a stinking Gordon thinks of ye?” He cocked a dark eyebrow and flashed her a mischievous half-smile.

  She relaxed her scowl. “As a matter of fact, I dinnae give a damn,” she said, tempted to return his smile. Alexander opened his mouth to reply—or worse, Isla thought, maybe to try to kiss her again—but she slapped her hand into his and began to manoeuvre awkwardly out of the saddle before he could speak, her skirts swinging damply around her ankles.

  Before she could manage to dismount on her own, he seized her by the waist and plucked her from atop the horse as if she were no heavier than a child. He then carried her several yards to the edge of the forest, where he deposited her beneath the sturdiest nearby boughs. A few moments later, he’d returned with the horses and tethered them to trees. Then he turned his blue eyes on her, giving her a look that seemed to say ‘where t
o now?’

  “It’s just a wee bit further, I think.”

  “Ye think? Ye havnae been wherever it is you’re goin’ before?”

  Sudden heat warmed Isla’s face as Alexander helped her up, his callused fingertips sending a slight shiver down her spine as they met hers. “Well, not exactly,” she admitted, her will to spit out a nastier reply dispelled by his touch.

  “And I dinnae suppose you’re gonnae tell me where we’re goin’?”

  Isla considered it. “Well, it’s a spring I’ve heard of. The spring of Saint Himelin, it’s called.”

  Alexander nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, I’ve heard tell of it.”

  He lifted her suddenly from the ground and she gave a small gasp of surprise.

  “Ye might as well not protest,” he said. “Ye cannae walk through the forest with a broken foot, and it isnae much trouble for me to carry ye to the spring.” His tone was all practicality, but he tightened his hand ever so slightly around hers as he spoke. He didn’t ease the pressure as he met her eyes.

  Isla contemplated arguing, but thought better of it. She really couldn’t walk through the forest on her own, and there was no way she was about to crawl in front of him. And she had to get to the spring. “Aye,” she said simply, letting the sides of her cloak fall away from her and brush Alexander’s knees as he started forward. His body warmed her better than the damp wool could.

  “I think we’re close,” Isla said a short while later. “I’ve heard it’s nae a mile from the roadside.”

  Alexander nodded, giving a small grunt of assent. He’d been carrying her the entire way without complaint, though she thought a few of the beads of moisture on his brow might be sweat, not rainwater. His body was like a hot stove, warming her thoroughly against the air’s bitter chill. Alexander noticed. “Ye dinnae have a fever, do ye?”

  She blushed more deeply and puller her hood tightly around her face. “Nae, it’s only that your body is so warm.”