His Highland Heart

by Willa Blair

  Calum jostled Euan’s shoulder, surprising him out of slumber—he hadn’t thought he’d sleep—but then Calum’s low-voiced warning froze Euan in place.

  “Someone is near.”

  Euan nodded slightly. Message received. Except for the far-off hoot of an owl and the ever-present gurgle of the rushing burn, the night was silent. He’d chosen this spot not only for the water, but because the sound of it would capture the attention of anyone approaching, so he and Calum might stand a chance to hear a patrol before it got close enough to discover them. “What did ye hear?” he whispered close to Calum’s ear.

  Calum shrugged.

  He wasn’t certain what he’d heard. Euan got that. It was actually good news. Man was not the only animal that hunted at night. Some predators preferred the dark. Without weapons, other than the wee eating knife, he’d still prefer a badger or a wolf over a Ross right now. It was late for a deer to be about, but not impossible, especially if one sensed their presence as it searched for safe haven. All in all, he’d rather a deer wander near them.

  But Calum had said “someone” not “something.” And his instincts were very, very good.

  Euan waited, alert to any movement, any sound, that might penetrate the blackness around them. Finally it came, a slight shuffling noise and hiss of indrawn breath, as though someone’s foot slipped on leaves. The slope leading down to the burn was uneven. Scattered tree roots and rocks made the descent treacherous unless you could see where to put your feet. Whoever was out there could not.

  Someone was sneaking up on them. They were about to be ambushed. How the hell had they been found this deep in the dark woods? He cast about for a weapon—a stout stick, a rock, anything. Nothing but pebbles came to hand.

  Just then, the person stumbled and let out a soft cry. A woman’s cry.

  Muireall? Euan had to have imagined that. His longing for the lass was making him hear her voice at the oddest, most stressful times.

  “Damn thorns!”

  The voice was closer and held a note of pain. This time, he could not mistake it. Muireall. Here. Was she searching for him? Alone, or did someone—the Ross chief, perhaps—have a dirk to her throat?

  “Who…?” Calum asked, softly, but too loudly to suit Euan’s level of anxiety.

  “Wheesht,” he breathed and waved Calum to silence. “Stay still. ’Tis Muireall, but I canna say if ’tis her alone.” The eating knife was where he’d left it. He palmed it and moved carefully away from his cousin. He paused by a broad tree trunk, then made his way toward the lass, hoping to spot any danger before it could find him—and Calum. Damn his lack of a decent blade. Any longer blade would do. The one he had in hand was little more useful than a wee sghian dubh. It gave him more of an advantage than mere surprise, but only barely. That and stealth were all he had now to protect them.

  Then he saw her, standing in a patch of starlight, one hand on the slim trunk of a young pine, one foot feeling for the ground before her. She appeared to be alone. He moved closer. “Muireall…” He called her name softly, in case a horde of Ross warriors waited just out of sight.

  Her head lifted and she turned toward the sound of his voice. “Euan? Thank God.”

  He stood and started toward her. “Aye, I’m here. What are ye doing in the woods in the dark of night?”

  Muireall met him halfway. “I’m so glad I found ye.”

  He folded her in his arms, relief flooding him to have her near. “I’m glad as well. Now ye have come, we can make our way to the boats and be gone from here. But what about yer friend?”

  Muireall looked up at him and shook her head. “She hasna decided yet.”

  His heart sank, hearing the regret in her voice. “Ye ken we canna wait.”

  “I do. I told her what to do if she ever wants to go. I hate to leave her behind, but I ken we must—for now.”

  “Aye. The longer we delay, the more likely we’ll be discovered.”

  “Ye have already waited too long.” A man’s voice echoed among the trees, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

  “Donas!” Muireall hissed.

  Euan instinctively shifted Muireall behind him as he struggled to pierce the darkness. Where was the Ross laird? And how many men did he have with him?

  Donas stepped out of the deeper darkness between several trees. Three other men stepped out a moment later, one to Euan’s right, one to the left, and one betrayed himself by the snap of a twig somewhere behind Euan. Donas nodded and crossed his arms. “Ye led us right to him, lass,” he gloated.

  Euan mentally kicked himself for focusing on Muireall. He’d failed to keep his guard up. As soon as he’d heard her voice, he’d been aware of nothing else. He knew better, damn it.

  Muireall whimpered, “Nay! Euan, ye must believe me, I didna ken…”

  Euan tugged her to his side and kept an arm around her. “’Tis no’ yer fault, lass.”

  “Yer attack was but a ruse,” she spat and glared at the other man.

  “Aye. I expected ye would lead us to the man with ye in the sea cave.”

  Muireall sagged against Euan. “If only I hadna stumbled upon ye. I could just as easily have led them away from ye.”

  He tightened his hold on her.

  Donas gestured. Two of his men stepped forward. One set the point of his sword against Euan’s chest. The other yanked Muireall out of Euan’s arms.

  She shrieked.

  Euan grabbed for her and felt the sword point bite through his shirt into his skin. He twisted away from it, still reaching for Muireall. “Let her go!” he demanded, following the line of the sword to the man who held it, looking for any advantage, any way to get it away from the Ross and into his hands. The man eyed him and shifted his stance. There was none. “She’s done naught to ye,” he said, turning away from his captor and glaring at the Ross chief.

  Donas lifted his chin, his gaze sliding past Euan.

  His attention was so tightly focused on the threat in front of him, he almost missed hearing the third man come up behind him. He’d barely turned to defend himself when the man knocked him to the ground, then drew his dirk and laid it across Euan’s throat. The man with the sword stepped back, his weapon held at the ready.

  “Ye are in no position to make demands,” Donas growled. “Now, who are ye and why should I no’ let Garrick there slit yer throat?”

  Euan didn’t take his gaze from the chief, but he could hear Muireall struggling against her captor and demanding to be released. Good lass. He hoped she got free and ran for the woods. Calum might be able to find her and take her home. He didn’t want her to see him killed. “My name is Euan,” he answered as the edge of the dirk bit lightly into his skin. He hissed against the sting. “From the shipwreck ye found.”

  “So ye willna tell me yer clan?”

  “Only a fool would put his kin at risk for no reason.”

  The man snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yer presence here is reason enough.”

  “I’m no’ here to do harm to yer clan. I’m trying to get home.”

  “With one of my lasses.”

  “No’ yers!” Muireall shouted.

  Donas turned toward her. “I can do whatever I wish with ye, lass, so for now, I suggest ye haud yer wheesht, or I’ll let Robbie there have at ye.” He jerked his head at the man who’d held Euan at sword point. That man joined Robbie to subdue Muireall.

  Euan’s heart sank. She had even less chance of escape now, held between the two men. He shifted, casting about for a way to save them both, but only succeeded in making the man behind him hold the dirk more tightly to his neck.

  “Ye were bluffing before. Ye are now. Ye wouldna give me to another man,” she argued, continuing to struggle. She got one arm free and nearly doubled over one of her captors with an elbow to his side. “Ye’ve already promised me to Erik,” she taunted as the man grabbed her arm and got her under control.

  “But ye dinna belong to him yet.” Donas glared at the man she’d mo
mentarily bested, then laughed. He moved to stand in front of her and grabbed her chin. “I’ve been known to change my mind. Dinna tempt me.”

  Muireall gasped and stilled.

  Euan tried to catch her gaze, to make her understand she would only make things worse by baiting the man. But she refused to look his way.

  To get Donas’s attention off of Muireall, he had no choice but to draw it back to himself, and damn the consequences. “If ye kill me, eventually ye’ll have to answer to yer chief. The Earl of Ross will not like ye starting a war with another clan.”

  Donas released Muireall and stepped toward Euan. “The Earl will never ken. And yer clan will assume—correctly—that ye and yer men were lost at sea. If ye want to live, ye’ll tell me where the rest of the crew is, and what were ye carrying, besides fish, aboard the sunken ship?”

  Euan knew better than to trust that Donas would allow him to live, no matter what tale Euan told him. He debated fabricating a story about the Tangie’s cargo, but couldn’t see what good it would do. The man was smarter than he’d given him credit for. Euan prayed Calum would stay silent so he could get away when the Rosses finished doing whatever they planned. Unarmed and with a dirk to his throat, Euan didn’t expect to survive the encounter, despite Donas’s offer. But Calum could, and he could get the truth back to Brodie. “Fish,” he replied. “A lot of fish.”

  Suddenly, Euan heard a whoosh and a thunk. With a groan, one of the guards holding Muireall dropped to the ground. Before anyone could react, another thunk broke the night’s stillness and the other man fell, too. Calum! Thank God for his skill, though how he managed it with a broken arm, Euan didn’t take the time to fathom.

  He used the distraction to roll clear of the dirk at his throat. Still moving, he kicked the man’s knee and heard the crack of breaking bone. The man screamed and went down. Rising, Euan grabbed the sword out of the sheath strapped to the man’s back. He had only a second before Donas charged, his blade swinging right for Euan’s heart. Euan sidestepped and parried, knocking the blade aside.

  “Clever,” Donas congratulated him. “Ye had another man under cover all this time. But ’twill make nay difference in the end.”

  After what Muireall had told him about the Ross chief, and after Calum’s tale of being tossed back into the unforgiving firth, Euan knew he was in a fight for his life.

  “Yer men are alive,” he insisted as he swung around, hoping it was true. “We can leave with no lasting harm to anyone. Ye’d best let us go while they—and ye—still live.”

  Donas answered with his blade, his swing aimed to remove Euan’s head from his shoulders. Euan ducked, then fell back. If he appeared weaker than he truly was, he might gain some advantage.

  Muireall, he noted out of the corner of his eye as his opponent found his footing, had taken cover behind the trunk of a stout tree. Good lass. Calum was still out of sight.

  Euan had to stop Donas, or they’d never get away. Yet he knew he could not let this battle go on for long. His hands were bleeding again, making his grip slippery. His strength was not fully restored on one meal and some water. And he doubted his opponent would make the mistake of letting him get close enough to knock him out, not without the risk of being gutted himself. Why hadn’t Calum used his slingshot to take Donas down?

  Then Euan realized Donas was working his way toward Muireall.

  Her gaze darted around, watchful, yet she was clearly unaware of her danger.

  The big chief could kill her easily, but first he’d use her to bring Euan to heel and force Calum out of hiding. Then he would kill them. Euan couldn’t let that happen.

  He charged, swinging the borrowed sword with everything in him, surprising Donas and catching his blade on his own. Heedless of the danger to himself, he forced his blade up his opponent’s steel until the hilts clanged together.

  Donas growled and fought to free his blade.

  Euan kneed him, jerked his blade free and kneed him again. Doubling over, he still managed a wild thrust, which Euan easily avoided. Counting on Donas’s agony to hinder his ability to fight, he took the risk and moved in, knocked aside another thrust and impaled the Ross chief.

  The disbelief in Donas’s eyes slowly faded away on a rattled gasp. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, silent, gaze fixed far away. In a moment, he was dead.

  Euan pulled his blade free and allowed the body to fall to its side. He took a deep breath as Muireall came out from behind the tree and slowly approached.

  “Is he truly gone?”

  “Aye. We’d best take advantage of the hours of darkness we have left and go.” Euan glanced at the men, still laid out on the forest floor like so many dropped shirts. The man whose leg he’d broken was unconscious, as were the two Calum had knocked out. He picked up Donas’s sword and called softly, “Calum, where are ye?”

  “Here.” Calum stepped out from behind a tree, tucking his slingshot inside his shirt with his good hand. “’Tis good ye didna need my help. He wouldna stay still. I couldna throw at him without the chance of hitting ye or the lass.”

  Euan clapped him on his good shoulder. “Glad I am ye devised a way to use that. I thought for a moment ye would have to find yer way home without me.” He glanced around. Off to one side, Muireall shivered, arms hugging herself and gaze bouncing from him to Donas’s body and back to him. She’d been so brave. He had to help her.

  “Calum, this is Muireall.” He handed the sword to Calum, then put his arms around her. “She’s a braw lass.” He kissed her temple, pleased to feel her shivering subside. “Ye are safe now,” he murmured. “We all are.” Calum stepped forward but Euan spoke before Calum had a chance to greet her. “Lass, ye and I will take their blades,” he said, gesturing at Donas’s men. She nodded but didn’t move out of the circle of his other arm. He decided to give her another minute and signaled to Calum to retrieve the dirks while Muireall stood, still unmoving.

  After a moment, she heaved a breath, nodded and gave him a hint of a smile, then stepped out of his arms and bent to retrieve the nearest man’s dirk.

  Euan kept a claymore and tossed the remaining swords into the darkness.

  “What about them?” Muireall asked.

  “When they wake up, if they decide to give chase, they willna be armed,” he replied.

  “Perhaps they’ll take the man with the broken leg back to their village, instead,” she said.

  Euan nodded. “Let’s hope so. For his sake and ours.”

  Then he spared Donas one last look, regretting the necessity of killing the Ross chief. He didn’t know what trouble would follow, but had no doubt Donas Ross’s death would bring more.

  Calum followed his glance and shrugged as if to say he didn’t know, either.

  Euan took Muireall’s hand and gently tugged. “Let’s get moving.”

  Chapter 7

  Muireall tugged her hand too easily from Euan’s. When she did, dampness slid across her palm. She dug in her heels and turned his hand over. The bindings she’d made from the hem of her sleep shift were still in place, but smeared with blood. “Is that Donas’s, or are ye bleeding again?”

  “Dinna fash. Ye can tend me later.” He pulled his hand free.

  “Wait.” She added a frown warning him not to move, then bent and sliced up the length of the sleeves of Donas’s shirt, tugging the fabric out from under his arms to cut it free. She tried to ignore how she jostled the dead limbs, focusing instead on the practical matter of Euan’s need for bindings. Donas had fallen with his arms outstretched, so the sleeves were less bloody than the rest of his clothes. “This should do,” she muttered. She split one sleeve in two, quickly and efficiently, and wrapped each over the strips of her shift already covering Euan’s hands. When she was done, he nodded.

  “Ye are full of surprises, lass.”

  She grimaced and tucked the other sleeve in her bodice, loath to have Donas’s smell anywhere near her, but she could wash that away in the sea. Given what she’d seen of Eua
n, she expected to need more bandages before long.

  “I’d do the same to them, but they might wake up. Let’s go before they do.”

  Euan gave her a nod and took her arm.

  As they headed out into the darkness, she didn’t know whether to try to forget the image of Donas falling under Euan’s blade, or revel in it. The Ross chief was dead. That could only be good for the clan and for her. And for the Brodies who flanked her and led her through the dark night toward the cove where the Ross clan kept their boats. Now that the two men were armed, and despite Calum’s injury, they made a large and fearsome escort. With them, and with a dirk in her hand, she felt safe for the first time since she’d been stolen from her home.

  They were going to make it.

  Once they made their way down a hill to the beach, Euan called a halt. “From here on, no’ a word, no’ a sound. If we’re discovered, we have no cover and nowhere to run. And if there’s a guard at the boats, surprise is our best advantage.”

  Muireall nodded her response.

  Calum gestured her forward with his good arm.

  Euan took up position to her right, the better to swing his borrowed sword, she knew, should the need arise.

  Calum followed.

  She supposed he’d keep an eye out behind them and warn if anyone appeared on the slope they’d just come down.

  After ten minutes of silent pacing, Euan dropped back to have a whispered consultation with Calum. She heard the word Brodie, but that was all. It miffed Muireall that she couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she knew if she stopped to let them catch up, they’d cease speaking, and she still wouldn’t know what they discussed. Grateful for her rescue, she nonetheless felt a burn of anger building in her chest. She needed to find out whether any in her village survived. Once away and on the firth, she’d appeal again to be taken to Munro, though she knew she’d be wasting her breath. She couldn’t blame Euan for being determined to find his survivors, if any remained. Or for wanting to take Calum back across the firth to be cared for by the Brodie healer, but that way lay even farther from her home. They’d had this discussion in the cave, before he’d known whether any of his clansmen lived. Now that he knew one had survived, he’d be even more determined. Others might still be alive, as well.