Loving the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  The damn crazy man was grinning again.

  She kicked out at him again with her bound feet.

  He smacked her on her fanny.

  Sadie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, burying her face in her arms. God save her, Adonis was a sadistic brute.

  Sadie flinched when a sharp, carrying whistle suddenly rent the air. She snapped her head around to see what he was doing.

  Was he calling a friend?

  Sadie looked at the scattered contents of her pack. Where was her knife? She needed something, a weapon, to defend herself. She checked to see that he was still looking off into the forest, watching for someone, while she rolled toward a group of young pine trees. She found a lower limb devoid of bark and wiggled to sit up beside it. She looked up at the man again, only to find him looking over his shoulder at her, still grinning, not at all worried that she would get far being trussed up like a turkey ready for cooking.

  Ha. This turkey was not going into the pot without a fight.

  He turned back and whistled again, and Sadie broke off the small branch at the same time, his signal covering the sound of the snap. She quickly tucked the sharp little stick under her arm.

  The ground started to rumble beneath her. A sound, faint at first, slowly gathered in volume until it was like thunder moving closer. A huge, solid black horse appeared suddenly, galloping through the forest and sliding to a stop a mere two feet in front of the man. Sadie had to shield her face from flying debris.

  A horse?

  Holy Mother of God. The brute had a horse?

  Sadie also remembered hearing that a victim should never let her assailant take her to a second location. She almost snorted at the absurdity of that useless warning. Where could he take her that was any more remote?

  The horse was the largest animal of its kind she had ever seen. It had a funny-looking saddle on its back, and tied to that saddle was a bundle of clothes, a backpack, and a long, leather-wrapped stick that must be a fishing pole.

  With an almost negligent look back to see that she was still there, the man patted his fidgeting horse and pulled the clothes free of the saddle. Turning to face her, he started dressing.

  The jerk had no shame.

  Once dressed, he pulled some socks and boots out of the pack and walked over to sit down beside her.

  Sadie decided the man didn’t look any less scary fully clothed. If anything, he appeared even larger. Still as silent as a mime—which was really starting to get on her nerves—he wiped off his feet and dressed them.

  Sadie dismissed the fact that she hadn’t exactly been a fountain of words herself. She was the victim here. She had a right to be scared speechless.

  His chore finished, he stood up, put his hands around her waist, and picked her up to stand in front of him. Sadie pulled her stick free and drove it at the center of his chest.

  She hit that odd-looking object he wore around his neck. It deflected her blow and allowed him to wrest the stick from her hands. Staring at her with forest-green eyes now laced with laughter, he snapped the stick in half and tossed it to the ground. He ducked and lifted her over his shoulder.

  Sadie kicked and twisted as if her life depended on it.

  And then she finally screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Her assailant was so startled he dropped her onto the ground like a sack of wormy meal and covered his ears. His horse backed up a good five paces, shaking its head as if his own equine ears had been damaged. Sadie dug at the tape binding her legs.

  “You bastard!” she yelled, pleased with herself for finally finding her voice. “You get the hell out of here, before I claw you to shreds!”

  His hands still covering his ears, the man just stood there staring at her. He shook his head slightly, then turned and calmly walked over to his horse. He untied the fishing pole from the saddle and pulled it free of the leather case.

  Sadie snapped her mouth shut. It wasn’t a fishing pole, it was a damn big, scary-looking sword.

  She kicked her feet and scurried back as fast as she could, until she bumped into a tree. The man advanced on her, his eyes narrowed, and stopped when his booted feet touched hers.

  That was when Sadie realized their little game of cat and mouse had come to an end. She closed her eyes and waited.

  But instead of the prick on her skin that she was expecting, Sadie felt his warm, tender mouth covering hers.

  She opened her eyes and found herself staring into deep, evergreen eyes. The giant raised his hand and cupped the side of her face and pressed closer, his sweet-tasting lips compelling her to respond.

  Sadie shoved him away.

  He laughed as he fell backward, the sound a deep, boisterous rumble that echoed through the forest. He stood up, brushed himself off, and turned and walked back to his horse. Goose bumps shivered over Sadie’s skin as she watched him walk away, that long sword held so casually in his hand, his stride almost swaggering. He vaulted into his saddle with effortless grace, then moved his horse closer. He brought his sword up to her hands and cut the tape.

  “Take a care, gràineag, until we meet again,” he whispered with a nod, swinging his horse around and thundering away in the direction of the lake.

  Sadie sat in stunned silence as she watched horse and rider disappear into the woods. Holy Mary Mother of God and all the saints and angels in heaven. Who was that lunatic?

  And that word he’d used—had he just cursed her?

  And what did he mean when he said “until we meet again”?

  Hell, not in this lifetime.

  Not unless she was carrying a gun.

  It took Sadie a good ten minutes before she could will herself to move. She was still trembling so much she had to use a tree to help herself stand. As she gripped the branch and fought to keep from falling, she brushed at her clothes, more or less patting herself down to make sure she really was okay.

  She started walking back to her cabin.

  For the first time in a lifetime of growing up in these mountains, Sadie realized how arrogant she had been to think she could protect herself from any danger the woods might offer. By the time she reached her cabin, she had worked herself up into a full-blown frenzy aimed more at herself than at anyone else.

  She could have been raped or even killed. But instead she’d been chased down by a naked giant who was way too handsome to be real. He hadn’t been angry, or even all that rough; he had just been determined to teach her a lesson.

  And he’d succeeded, more than Sadie cared to admit.

  For all of her own anger at having put herself in such a vulnerable position, she couldn’t help but remember the feel of his rock-solid body pressing against hers, couldn’t help but think about the sensuous touch and taste of his lips.

  And she couldn’t decide if her shivering was the lingering remnants of her initial fear or the awareness that she had found the encounter exciting.

  She ran up the steps and shoved open the door of her small cabin, quickly moving to close the wood shutters on each window, locking them securely, throwing the interior into darkness. She threw paper and kindling into the huge stove that sat in the center of the room and lit a fire. She left the stove door open, sat on the floor in front of the fire, and held her hands out to the heat.

  Ping, Sadie’s gray tiger cat, came slinking out from under the bed, yawning and stretching as she walked, and climbed onto Sadie’s lap. Purring loudly enough to wake the dead, the cat stretched up and gave her a gritty lick on the chin. Sadie hugged the cat against her chest and buried her face in the animal’s fur.

  “Oh, Ping,” she whispered against her rumbling little body. “You won’t believe what happened to me today.”

  She couldn’t stop shaking. Her naively safe little world had been shattered by the stone-hard body of a man who had held her very life in his hands.

  Sadie already had a rather low opinion of men—all except for her father. She was twenty-seven, and she had never had a relationship that lasted more than t
wo months. And that had been before the fire had scarred her in more ways than one.

  But up until now, Sadie had never actually feared any man. Never again would she be able even to go out on a simple date without realizing that she might be tall and strong, but she was not invincible.

  Even her ugliness couldn’t protect her.

  Or had it? Had the man felt so sorry for her that he had decided to let her go?

  Now, that irked.

  Perversely, Sadie got angry that the sinfully handsome man might have let her go out of pity.

  She stopped rubbing Ping and lifted her hand to her lips. He had kissed her. And after he had seen the ugly scars on her hand. Had it been a sympathy kiss?

  Oh, those were the worse kind, quick little pecks that said she was likable, just not in a passionate way. She’d had quite a few of those over the last eight years.

  Ping protested the loss of affection by nudging against Sadie’s arm. Sadie absently began scratching the cat again as she tried to judge the kiss she’d received today against those sympathy pecks.

  Naw, the guy hadn’t felt sorry for her. He’d been too amused.

  Had it been a mocking kiss?

  That was just as bad. Sympathy or mockery, when the kiss was from an Adonis, both were equally humiliating.

  Chapter Three

  It was late afternoon when Morgan guided his horse, Gràdhag, through the magical mist of the gorge. He chuckled as he remembered the expression on the woman’s face when she had realized he was right behind her, when she had tried to stab him with a stick, and when she had shoved him away when he’d kissed her.

  Morgan simply couldn’t quit smiling. If he had known the ribbon planter roaming his valley these last ten weeks had been a stunningly beautiful woman, he would have spent less time building his house and more time plaguing her instead.

  Well, he certainly had plagued her today, and it would be a long time before he found any more ribbons.

  His smile quickly faded, however, when he rode into the clearing and saw Daar sitting on the steps of Morgan’s newly completed home. He ignored the drùidh and walked his horse to the small barn and dismounted. Daar came over, took the beast by the reins, and fed him a carrot.

  Morgan shook his head. Gràdhag was as fierce a war horse as any warrior could hope for. But in the presence of the drùidh, the animal became as docile as a newborn kitten.

  “Now what have you done?” Daar asked without looking up from his chore.

  “What makes you think I’ve done anything? I always swim in the morning.”

  “You were grinning like the village idiot when you rode up, which tells me something pleases you greatly.” The priest cocked his head, squinting at him. “And that usually means you’ve been up to mischief. How did you get that cut on your head?”

  Morgan briefly touched the small cut on his forehead, then began unsaddling Gràdhag. “I am smiling, old man, because I have just put a good dent in the plans to build a park.”

  “How?” Daar asked, turning a suspicious eye on him as he fed another carrot to the horse.

  “By scaring our ribbon planter away.” Morgan chuckled again. “She probably hasn’t stopped running yet, nor will she likely stop until she reaches Pine Creek. She’ll not be back in this valley anytime soon.”

  “She?”

  Morgan tossed the saddle over the rail of the paddock and picked up a brush to begin grooming his horse. “It’s a woman who’s been marking the valley with ribbons. I found the roll of orange tape in her bag.”

  “And how would you know what she was carrying in her bag?”

  Morgan stopped brushing. “I looked.”

  “Did this woman see you look?” Daar asked, looking pointedly at the cut on Morgan’s forehead.

  Morgan grinned again. “Aye. I was sitting on top of her at the time.”

  “Sitting on her?” Daar’s eyes widened. “What have ya done?”

  Morgan tossed the brush into the bucket and took Gràdhag’s reins away from the drùidh. He led the horse into the paddock and opened a bale of hay.

  “Tell me. What did you do to her?”

  “I scared her, okay?” Morgan said, turning to face the old priest. “I ran her down and scared her so badly she couldn’t even speak.”

  “You accosted an innocent woman you found in the woods? Are you mad, Morgan? That’s unforgivable, not to mention illegal.”

  “She’s no innocent. She’s the one laying out the park in the valley.”

  “So you caught her tying ribbons to trees, then?”

  “Ah…no,” Morgan said, walking toward the house.

  His home was a sturdily built structure, two stories tall, made of timber he’d cut from the surrounding forest and had milled in town. The house wasn’t that large and, with Callum’s help, had taken only two months to build. There was a porch spanning the front and several large windows facing Prospect Valley, which offered a spectacular view whenever the mist was not too heavy.

  Morgan walked onto the porch and through the door, into the large single room that served as both living room and kitchen.

  Daar followed close at his heels. “Then what made you go after her?” the priest asked, moving to the cooler on the counter and helping himself to a can of soda.

  Morgan watched the old man fight to open the flip top on the can. With a sigh of resignation, he walked over, took the can from him, opened it, then handed it back.

  “She took my picture,” Morgan told him. “She was hiding in the bushes with her camera, and she took my picture while I was sitting on a rock in the middle of the lake.”

  Daar lowered the can from his mouth. “You were swimming naked as usual, I presume?”

  “Aye.” Morgan found his grin again. “She’ll certainly have something to dream about tonight.”

  “So you chased her because of the pictures?”

  “That I did.”

  “While you were still naked.”

  “Well, I didn’t stop to find my clothes, old man. She’s a fairly fast runner. I swear the woman has legs all the way up to her ears.”

  Daar sat down and placed his soda on the finely crafted maple table in front of him. He turned the can with his fingers and absently watched the label spin around. Unable to decide if the old priest was angry or bemused by his tale, Morgan went to the cooler and took out a can of beer. He leaned against the counter and opened it, taking a long drink of the weak ale as he watched the drùidh’s back.

  “What did this woman look like?” Daar asked without turning around. “Her eyes. And her hair and skin. What color were they?”

  Morgan frowned at the question. “Her eyes were blue,” he said, as if that detail were unimportant. He wasn’t about to reveal to the priest just how captured he’d been by the woman’s eyes when he finally saw them up close. “What does it matter what color they were? She had tanned skin, blond hair, blue eyes, and she stood as tall as a man.”

  Daar twisted in his seat to face him. “Blond hair? A red-blond or a yellow-blond?” he asked. “Do you remember seeing that color before today?”

  Morgan wondered what the old man was getting at. She was a blond, dammit. Lots of people had light-colored hair and blue eyes. His sister-in-law had blue eyes. Hell, the old priest had blue eyes.

  But his ribbon planter did have a distinct honey-yellow shine to her hair and flawless golden skin that looked to be kissed by the sun.

  Well, flawless skin but for the scars on one hand and those he saw peeking around the side of her waist from her back.

  Morgan suddenly straightened away from the counter.

  “It’s not the same,” he said, glaring down at the priest. “This woman is not the yellow light we saw in the vision. Her work will destroy the gorge.”

  “Then you saw the blackness around her?”

  “Of course not. I don’t practice your magic. But she did try to kill me. She tried to drive a stake through my heart.”

  Daar glared at him. “You didn�
�t hurt her, did you?”

  Morgan glared back. “Not unless a person can actually die of fright.”

  The priest’s stare darkened. Morgan blew out a frustrated breath, rubbing his neck. “I left her whole and hearty, old man. Just shaken, I hope, enough to leave the valley and not come back.”

  “Ah, warrior,” Daar said with a tired sigh, shaking his head and turning back to the table. He began toying with his soda again. “You may have just scared away the only goodness this valley has seen in more than eighty years.”

  “Explain yourself,” Morgan demanded, moving to sit at the table. “How can anything that has to do with that park be good?”

  “You’ve claimed this land now. If the park doesn’t include your gorge, what can it hurt?”

  “They don’t run a fence around it,” Morgan countered. “People will wander, and once the waterfall—and the magic—is discovered, nothing will keep them away.”

  The old man sighed again. “That is true. But there must be some way for both you and this park to exist in harmony.”

  “I’ve thought about that.” Morgan leaned his arms on the table. “I had our lawyer check the registry of deeds at the courthouse. The lands of the valley are still held by many owners. They haven’t been combined yet to form the park. What if I buy this south end of the valley? That will keep the people miles away.”

  “Buy it with what?”

  Morgan warmed with the excitement of saying his plan aloud for the first time since thinking of it two weeks ago. He leaned closer. “You can put me in touch with the auction house where you sold Ian and Callum’s swords and several pieces of our equipment.”

  “You’ll not sell your sword! Your brother would kill you.”

  “Nay. I would die before I part with it. But my dagger is a gift from my father. It’s nearly nine hundred years old now and is jeweled. It might bring enough money to buy the land.”

  Daar leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard. He didn’t speak for a full minute.