His Highland Heart

by Willa Blair

  Euan’s knees gave way, and he sat down hard on one of the stepping stones Muireall had used to gain his shoulders. God damn it! He was a fool. The rope was gone, and so, probably, was she.

  She lived here. Likely she knew these caves and had known all along she could escape through them, if only she had a way up into them. A way he had provided.

  And then he’d handed her the only tool that might save his life, not that he’d yet figured out how to use it by himself. Still, she’d taken the rope. Even if he tried to ride the rising tide, he was in danger of being dashed against the rocks or sucked back out to sea by an undertow.

  He dropped his wet head into his hands and growled at the sting. At least there, his spirit would join those of his men, with the tangies his ship had been named for, sea sprites or kelpies, depending on which old tales you believed.

  Hearing a slithering sound, he looked up, then jumped to his feet. The rope hung down the wall, swinging slightly in smaller and smaller arcs. She hadn’t abandoned him! In another moment, Muireall peered down at him, arms wrapped around her middle, her cloak securely shielding her body from his view.

  “I couldna find anything to tie it to. I wedged the knot in a fissure between some rocks. I hope it will hold ye.”

  Euan huffed out a breath. “I thought ye’d made off with it.”

  “What? Nay!” Muireall fisted her cloak and frowned down at him. “I didna want the rope to fall out of the cave until I secured it, so I pulled it all in. I’ve tugged as hard as I can.”

  Euan nodded, grabbed the rope and gave it a few tugs, ignoring the sting in his hands. It held. If his grip would also hold, he might survive the next high tide.

  He clenched his teeth and climbed.

  In moments, he was over the lip of the cave. He lay there, breathing hard and forcing his tortured hands to unclench. He left bright red streaks on the rope’s rough surface, and the stench of copper filled his nose for a moment, cutting through the smells of sea and dank rock. Muireall, one hand clutching her cloak and the other over her mouth, watched him from a few paces further into the narrow cave, concern written in her pretty frown. No time for that, dammit! He hooked the rope with his elbow, rolled to his feet and pulled the dangling end in after him. “No sense advertising our presence,” he told her, ignoring the way her gaze tracked the crimson blood smeared onto the cave floor’s dull stone. “We may need it to get down again when the tide goes out.”

  Muireall gathered her damp cloak more tightly around her. “The cave is narrow, but it leads upward toward the back. Daylight is getting in somewhere.”

  “Let’s go see.” Euan gestured for her to follow him. “Watch yer step.”

  The passage was indeed narrow, but trended upward. Euan took care placing his feet—worried as much about what a turned ankle would do to his chances for escape as he was about falling into an unseen pit. Soon enough, the cave widened out and a thin shaft of light pierced the gloom and reflected around the space.

  “That may be our best chance,” Euan said, pausing to study the cave’s ceiling and walls. They still gleamed wetly from last night’s storm, proof that water had created this space. “That crack is high on the wall rather than in the ceiling, which means there’s a hillside that slopes in that direction.” He gestured, sweeping one hand at an angle down the wall. “If I can reach that opening, I’ll be able to see how much rock is between us and the outside.”

  “The rope…”

  “Leave it. If this doesna work, we’ll need to climb down at low tide.”

  Muireall moved past him, farther into the cave. “This is the end.”

  “Then let’s see if ’tis also our way out.” The rock face directly below the crack was too wet to provide reliable hand and footholds. He moved a few feet to the side and started up, grimacing as he left bloody fingerprints. When he reached the crack, he made a fist and forced his hand through. He could feel blades of grass outside. “The ground is thin here,” he reported. “But without tools…”

  “If ye tug on it, will it cave in or hold?”

  Euan stretched on his toes and got his arm through to the elbow. Bending it, he used his weight and forearm to pull. He felt something give. “I think there’s only a thin layer of scree held together by roots. It looks ready to crumble. Anyone walking above would likely fall into this cave.” He braced himself on one foot, held on and kicked at the wall with the other. He heard stones and gravel roll downhill. “’Tis breaking loose.”

  “Be careful. What if someone sees?”

  Shite. “Ye’re right,” Euan agreed and climbed down. “We’ll wait for the gloaming. I need a little light to see handholds. When I try this, I want ye back in the lower passage. If the hillside collapses, you’ll still be able to get down the rope at low tide.”

  “We will, ye mean to say.”

  “Aye, if I’m not up to my neck in rocks and mud.”

  “If ye are, I’ll dig ye out.”

  “If I am, I’ll dig myself out. Ye will go back around the cove to yer clan, where ye’ll be safe.”

  He couldn’t decipher the bleak expression that crossed Muireall’s face at that moment, but it gave him a hollow sensation in his belly. “That is what ye want, is it no’?”

  She turned and headed into the lower passage.

  He followed. “Is it?” Her silence puzzled him. “What are ye no’ telling me, lass?”

  “Nought ye’ll want to hear.” She kept walking until she reached the cave’s opening.

  Over her shoulder, Euan could see sunlight dancing on the firth. Water sloshed against the cliff wall as the tide came up, with a low, rolling sound he could feel through the rock under his feet. The water had climbed another foot in the time they’d been at the upper end of the cave. “We’ve an hour until high tide,” he ventured. “Six hours more until the tide goes out far enough for ye to get around the headland. And nowhere to go until near dark. Ye could tell me what’s on yer mind. To pass the time, if nought else.”

  “Should we no’ find a way to collect some of the rain water in the upper cave?”

  “We’ll be away from here and ye’ll be back to yer clan before thirst becomes that much an issue. What we need is to stay warm and let our clothes dry. We’ve nought to build a fire, and smoke would give us away if we did. We’ll huddle somewhere out of the wind.”

  Muireall nodded, shoulders dropping on a sigh.

  “Come, lass. Let’s find a place to rest.”

  Muireall wrapped her cloak tightly about her. Euan’s scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She wanted to tell him. She just wasn’t sure she should. After all, what did she know about him? Even though he’d saved her life and said he wouldn’t harm her, she couldn’t trust a man she barely knew. If he found out she had been stolen, he might use and abandon her when he escaped. Nay, she dared not tell him—not yet. She might be cut off from the Ross clan, but she was no nearer home. Instead, somehow, if they managed to avoid drowning this day, she had to convince him to take her with him.

  She was full of foolish dreams.

  But if Euan agreed, she’d be leaving Ella and Tira to their fate with the Ross men. Shame made her chest hollow and her eyes sting with unshed tears. Though she and Euan were still in trouble, she had hope. Ella did not, though Tira seemed happy with the man who’d taken her. Ella seemed resigned, aye. Happy, nay.

  Why had their own clan not found them yet? That question tortured her every day. Had the surviving Munro men lost their trail? They’d been gone nearly a month. On the trip, with every mile further from home, she and the others had prayed for rescue. But no one had come for them. On the journey to Ross, Tira’s latest moon blood finished and she had been claimed by a man named Teague. A week after they arrived, Ellas’s latest moon blood did, too, and soon after, Thomas had taken her to his bed. Muireall knew her turn would come within days. Married, as the Ross clan counted it. She counted it taken against their wills. They’d all be ruined and lose all hope of rescue. Her father would be fu
rious, if he still lived, to see his plans for her to make an alliance with clan Grant had been ruined by Ross raiders.

  What would she do if Donas’s boast was true and her village had been destroyed?

  Could she leave her friends behind? Save herself and convince Euan to return her to Munro to find out their fate? If her clan lived, would she be able to convince anyone to return for the other lasses? Come to that, if the worst had happened, would Euan? If her people were gone, what possible reason would he and his men have to fight for her clanswomen? They would be risking a war with Ross over women who meant nothing to them and a clan that no longer mattered to anyone but her.

  She didn’t know anything about him. If she, Tira, and Ella were to have a chance of escape, she needed to find out which clan he belonged to, what he cared about, and what he might do. She resolved to use the time they spent waiting to good advantage and learn all she could.

  Euan led her to a small inset in the rock she’d missed in the path to the upper cave. It was large enough for both of them yet small enough to hold some of their body heat.

  “Get in,” he ordered. “Ye’ll be warmer on the inside.”

  She didn’t like the thought of being trapped in the small space, his body between her and freedom. “I have my cloak. When it dries, I’ll be warmer. Ye should go first.”

  “Nay, lass.” He tilted his head. “Ye think I’d corner ye in there?” His shoulders lifted and lowered as he glanced aside and clenched his jaw. “I told ye I wouldna harm ye.”

  “I…”

  “I willna.” He waved a hand. “If I wanted to have my way with ye, I could do it right here. In the upper cave. Out by the rope. Hell, I couldha done it when I first pulled ye from the water, before ye woke up.”

  “Somehow all of that fails to reassure me,” Muireall muttered. But he was right. He’d probably seen right through the front of her wet shift when he rescued her, and he’d made no advances. She huffed out a sigh. “Verra well.” She ducked in and settled herself, finding it more difficult than she expected to lean her back against the hard, cold rock.

  Euan waited until she stilled, then joined her. Within moments, she realized having his body close by had a delicious benefit. He warmed her, and she fought the urge to snuggle closer.

  “Tell me about yerself,” she said, keeping her tone neutral enough he’d hear it as a request, not a demand. “Where are ye from? Why were ye out in that storm?”

  Euan eyed her, then shrugged. “The fishing was good. We overstayed the day and the storm came up—too fast.” He gestured with an open palm. “We raced for home, but the wind shifted, driving us toward the far coast—here. The wind…well, before we could get the sail down, the wind heeled us over. The Tangie capsized and went under and onto the rocks.”

  “Yer men?”

  “If none of my men have been seen, then…they went down with her.” He leaned his head against the rock behind him and closed his eyes. Little enough light penetrated to their sanctuary, but it allowed Muireall to see a muscle jumping in Euan’s jaw.

  “Yer men. Ye were captain, then?”

  “Aye.” He paused and swallowed. “My men, my ship, my fault.”

  “Surely, ye dinna blame yerself for the storm?”

  He lifted his head and looked at her. “Nay. But we shouldha run for home as soon as we spied dark clouds piling up on the horizon.”

  “How could ye ken which way the storm would go?” she asked, shivering at the thought of how his men must have died, knowing they’d made a fatal mistake. “What’s done is done, and no’ yer fault.”

  He didn’t react.

  She tried a different approach. “Perhaps yer men made it ashore. Ye just dinna ken it yet.”

  He nodded. “I pray for that, but dinna hold much hope. I barely made it myself. And one was just a lad.” He sighed and turned his hand over, studying the scrapes marring it.

  Muireall winced. He had to be hurting, yet he’d done so much with those hands to save them, as if their wounds didn’t exist.

  “What about ye, lass? What can ye tell me about yer clan?”

  He wanted information about the Rosses, no doubt, not her own clan. Instead of answering, she countered, “Tell me about yers first.”

  He shrugged. “Our laird is new this past year. And newly married. His wife, Annie, well, ye’d have to meet her to understand. She’s every inch the daughter of a laird—headstrong as all hell and into everyone’s business. No’ the sort of lass I’d ever want to wed.”

  Muireall frowned. “That’s no’ very kind. So ye think all laird’s daughters are that way? And none could possibly suit ye?” His words cut her, though he had no idea.

  “Ach, lass, but ye didna let me finish. On the other hand, she’s everyone’s friend. Hell of a rider and archer, too.”

  “A lass can do that?”

  “What? Aye. Useful skills, would ye no’ say?”

  She nodded. “For a man, aye.”

  He waved a hand. “Your turn. So yer lasses dinna ride or fight. Tell me more.”

  If she were truly a Ross, what would she tell him? “What do ye wish to ken?”

  Euan didn’t look at her. “Where does the clan keep its boats?”

  That was easy to answer—he’d find them on his own quickly enough. “In the cove on the other side of where ye…where the Tangie…washed ashore.”

  His shoulders stiffened and the hand he’d waved curled into a fist.

  Instantly, she knew what he must be thinking. If he’d gone that way instead of this, he could have taken a boat, and he’d already be at sea, searching for his men along the coastline or headed home, not stuck in a cold, damp cave with a lass…who was not who he thought she was.

  Dear God, she could not deal with his reaction to finding out she’d been stolen and needed his help. Not yet. Not now. If she gave him time, he’d think of reasons not to take her with him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being left to the fate she dreaded at Ross.

  “How many boats? What kind?”

  His urgent question snapped her gaze to his. His green eyes had gone cold as winter sea spray. She quailed and lowered her lids, focusing on her hands instead of his. She had to look somewhere, anywhere, else. If she kept staring at him, at the evidence of efforts to save both of them, she’d blurt out the truth. “Five or six in all. I dinna ken what ye’d call all of them. One birlinn, the rest smaller.”

  “Do they keep a guard at the cove?”

  “Aye—a man to raise the alarm.” She thought about it for a moment and added, “They’re salvaging what they can from your wreck, so there might be more men about than usual.” Donas Ross had big plans, most of which meant raiding neighboring clans to steal their wealth and women. In many ways, he was a fool, but not in the strategy and tactics of war. He’d snuck onto Munro land and stolen three women without anyone being aware until it was too late—or ever. Since no one had come, Muireall suspected no one knew where to look once they realized the three lasses were missing. Muireall clutched her cloak more tightly about her and glanced aside at Euan. His frown told her he was considering his chances of escape and not liking them one bit.

  And that was before she told him who she really was and begged him to take her with him. And the other women. Nay, he wouldn’t like that at all. But he was the first chance of getting help she’d had since she’d been taken. She’d wait for a better time to tell him. She just didn’t know when that time would be.

  Chapter 3

  Euan woke with a jerk. His head hit the cave wall behind him, just hard enough to make him realize he’d dozed off. His chin had dropped to his chest, then snapped back. He blinked a few times to clear the fog from his mind and realized Muireall, asleep, wrapped tightly in her cloak, leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. His sudden movement had not disturbed her. She must truly be exhausted.

  He took a moment to enjoy the warmth of her body next to his. Her scent filled his nostrils, something soft and sweet under the briny o
cean and dank cave smell that surrounded them. Her pale skin caught the wavering light reflecting along the cave walls. Dark circles smudged the skin under her eyes. Aye, she was exhausted. And probably hungry and thirsty. At least, she would be somewhat warmed by leaning into him.

  The light told him the day was waning, but it was not yet dark enough to try to escape from the upper cave. He’d let the lass sleep a while longer. Now that he knew where the Ross boats were kept, escape along the clifftop didn’t hold the appeal it once had. Having to avoid the Ross village would slow him. Making his way across the beach would be closer, and faster, than traversing the clifftop.

  Low tide would happen soon, and with it, the narrow stretch of sand around the headland would be revealed. But in another two hours, it would be fully dark, and he might be able to make his way around the headland and across the next cove unseen if he hugged the cliff wall. He wanted one of those boats Muireall mentioned. Any that one man could drag into the water and sail on his own would do to get him home to Brodie. But first, he’d head down the coast. If a Ross boat followed, the men on it would not be able to guess his true destination. And it would give him a chance to see if any of his men had washed up on a beach nearby. Their families would want to know and give them a proper burial, if he could retrieve them.

  He had to trust that Muireall would not send her clansmen after him, at least not right away. But once they got out, she’d have to explain where she’d been overnight and how she’d survived. Would a story that she’d made it into the cave on her own be believed? Or would he be better off to take her with him—willing or not—because no one would believe she’d survived alone?

  Nay, he couldn’t. She’d slow him down, and as long as he didn’t need a hostage, he had no reason to take her from her people. Even if he did, he couldn’t countenance putting her in danger by forcing her to make a risky escape with him. His only concern was to get her safely to the next cove where she could make her way up the cliff path to her village. After that, his priority was staying free, and finding out what had become of his men.