Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides)

by Lynsay Sands

  Hope had flared to life in Dwyn, a brilliant fire in her breast. She’d known her father would like that. It not only wouldn’t take her away from him, it would add someone else to take over more of his responsibilities, freeing him to pursue his own interests. She’d been sure that would appeal to him, and she’d been right. The next thing she knew he was responding that they would travel to Buchanan so that the sons could meet his daughter.

  Dwyn had been over the moon . . . until her sisters had decided to help. She knew they really had wanted to help, that they’d wanted her married and happily settled like they were going to be with their still-living future husbands. They had not tried to make her feel inferior. But, in the end, that’s what their help had done. Their determination to lower the necklines on her gowns to highlight her large breasts, which were her “finest feature,” had reminded her that she had not been graced with the beauty they had, but was plain and unappealing. Their insistence on taking in the waistline of those same gowns until they were so tight that she could barely breathe so that she looked slimmer had just reminded her that she was not long-legged and slender like her sisters. And the lessons they’d insisted on giving her in how to be interesting and not a bookworm had reminded her that she was a dull little wren, not likely to attract a husband.

  By the time they’d left for Buchanan, Dwyn was regretting ever answering Lady Jetta’s first letter, and sure the trip was going to be a terrible waste of time. Things had not improved when she’d arrived and Lady Catriona and Lady Sasha had begun to peck at her, reinforcing what her sisters had unintentionally made her feel. She was plain, and boring and fat, and none of the Buchanans would be interested in her, they’d said, and then begun to call her horse-face and to whinny at her, and she’d thought the trip would not just be a waste of time but probably the most miserable time of her life.

  And then Geordie climbed up into her tree and everything changed. He made her laugh. He made her burn. He made her feel desirable, and even desired. He made her feel powerful, like a goddess . . . and he was so kind and gentle with her. So careful with her at all times. Geordie made her see herself through entirely different eyes than her sisters and Catriona and Sasha did. He made her like herself again, and she loved him for that and much more. For his kindness to Drostan. For the way he helped his family. For his strength and character.

  She loved him . . . and she had to get back to him now, Dwyn realized, pushing her thoughts away. She didn’t dare leave him alone for too long. Time was of the essence here. She needed to get him to help as quickly as she could, and it seemed there was only one way to do it now that his horse was gone.

  Mouth tightening grimly, Dwyn rushed over to grab the plaid and then turned to charge back into the woods.

  Chapter 12

  “Yer horse is gone,” Dwyn got out on a gasped breath as she reached Geordie and started to lay out the plaid.

  “Aye,” he sighed. “I tried to tell ye that, but ye ran off too quick.”

  “The men must have loosed him,” she muttered, pulling the plaid corners out.

  “And slapped him to make him run,” Geordie added. “Else he would no’ have gone. He has probably returned to the keep. They’ll send help if he has.”

  Dwyn glanced at him sharply at that. “What’s his name?”

  “Who? Me horse?”

  “Aye, Geordie, what’s his name?” she asked again.

  “Horse.”

  “Ye named yer horse Horse?” Dwyn squawked with disbelief. “Do ye call yer dog Dog too, then?”

  “I do no’ have a dog,” Geordie reminded her, sounding amused but weary.

  “Ye do now. Two o’ them, and their names are Angus and Barra, so do no’ expect them to answer to Dog,” she said firmly.

  “Wife, what—?” His question ended on a grunt when Dwyn moved around to his side opposite the plaid and shoved with all her might to roll him onto his stomach. It put him half on the plaid, and before he could protest her shabby treatment of him, she rolled him again, onto his back this time. Much to her relief that roll put him in the center of the plaid.

  “Dwyn,” he said with a frown in his voice as she moved to his feet and began to tie the ends of the plaid together beneath his boots. “What are ye doing, lass? Ye need to make yer way back to Buchanan.”

  “I intend to,” Dwyn assured him, “with you.”

  “Nay, lass. Ye—”

  “Horse!” she called over his protest. “Horse!”

  “Dwyn!” His voice was a raspy hiss, but it was his hand grabbing her ankle that made her stop and turn to him as he said, “These men may have cohorts out here, and ye could draw them to us.”

  “They do have others out here with them,” she admitted unhappily, recalling the one villain saying there was a good chance the men would all get to have a turn at her. Giving up on the horse for the minute, she moved to the end of the plaid opposite his feet. Dwyn hadn’t spread the whole plaid out; she’d left almost half of it bundled in a clump just past where his head now lay. There simply wasn’t room in the woods to lay out twelve feet of plaid. Taking up the ends now, she tied them around her waist, knotting them to be sure they didn’t untie and slip off. She then started walking in the general direction she thought Buchanan keep must be. At least, she tried. The man was much heavier than she’d expected, or perhaps heavier than she’d hoped was a better description. Dwyn had to lean all her weight forward to get him moving across the forest floor, but after a couple of false starts, she was able to drag him at a slow steady pace.

  Of course, Geordie began to protest the moment he realized what she was doing, and insisted she leave him and hurry back to the safety of Buchanan without him. Dwyn ignored him at first, but when his voice began to weaken, she knew she had to do something. He was wasting strength he needed to survive.

  Glancing back, she growled breathlessly, “Do ye really want to see me raped by a whole camp full of villains, m’laird? Because that’s what one o’ the men said would happen once they got me back to their camp, and that’s most like what will happen do ye no’ quit yer carping at me. They’ll hear ye and catch us.”

  When Geordie snapped his mouth closed, she grunted with satisfaction and turned her face forward. Dwyn was moving steadily at an angle she hoped would take them out onto the path they’d ridden to get to the loch. She knew it would be risky to drag him along the path, but the forest floor was full of branches and the exposed roots of trees and she didn’t think it was probably doing his wound much good bumping him over those. Besides, they would surely move more quickly on the flatter path, and that was important. Dwyn was terrified he’d lose too much blood and die before she could get him to help. But she only had to get him to the edge of the woods around Buchanan castle. Dwyn was sure once they reached the clearing, the men on the wall would see them and send riders out. She just had to get him that far . . . and quickly.

  Dwyn’s thoughts died as she heard the snap of a branch behind her. Afraid she wouldn’t be able to get Geordie moving again did she stop now, she continued forward, and merely glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t see anything. She didn’t hear anything else either, at least not from behind her. Instead, she became aware of the growing thunder of horses ahead and to her right. Sure they must be riders from Buchanan, Dwyn enjoyed a burst of energy that allowed her to move more quickly for a couple minutes, but not quick enough. Afraid the men would ride right past them, she stopped and quickly undid the plaid from around her waist.

  “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to Geordie, and hurried through the trees toward the sound. Dwyn had meant to stop in the trees before she reached the path the riders must be on, just to make sure that the riders were from Buchanan, but it was so dark she couldn’t tell where the trees ended until she raced out of them and onto the path. Stopping abruptly, Dwyn started to turn back and then froze, her hand coming up to cover her chest as she saw the horse about to run right over her.

  It was much lighter on the path where
the moonlight was not obstructed by trees, and Dwyn could actually see the dismay on Aulay’s face as he sawed viciously on his horse’s reins to keep from trampling her. The animal reared, his head forced to the side by the reins and his huge body following just enough. The beast’s front hooves churned the air, brushing so close to her face she felt the breeze of their passing, and then they crashed to the ground just to the side of her. Chaos immediately erupted behind Aulay as the men following him were all forced to an abrupt halt as well. Some managed it, some had to turn their horses off the path to avoid a collision, and then Aulay leapt off his mount, and grabbed her arms.

  “Are ye all right, lass?” he growled with concern.

  Dwyn shifted her eyes to him, gasped, “Geordie,” and then pulled away to run back into the woods. After the light on the path, the darkness of the forest at night left her almost blind, but she stumbled through the trees as quickly as she could, and found the wounded man by tripping over him. His grunt as she fell over him sounded beautiful to her, and Dwyn scrambled back to kneel next to him and feel for his face in the dark.

  “Geordie? Aulay’s found us. ’Tis going to be all right now. We’ll have ye back at the keep in no time,” she assured him, brushing her hands over his cheeks and forehead. “Ye just hang on.”

  Straightening then, she glanced to Aulay’s dark shape as he knelt on Geordie’s other side. “We have to get him back quickly—he’s bleeding badly.”

  Aulay didn’t ask questions; he merely scooped up his brother and turned to stride back through the trees. His men had followed, and now scattered, backing out of the way for them to pass. It wasn’t until they were out of the woods that Aulay asked, “What happened?”

  “We were attacked. Two men. Geordie killed them both, but took a sword through the chest before he dispatched the second one,” Dwyn explained quickly.

  “Were there only two?” Aulay asked, his voice grim as he moved to his horse.

  “Aye, but they mentioned a camp and more men,” she said on a sigh.

  “Alick, take Geordie and pass him up to me once I’m mounted,” Aulay ordered, pausing next to his mount.

  Dwyn glanced around with surprise at the man who had been standing beside her when he stepped forward to take Geordie. She hadn’t realized it was Geordie’s younger brother until Aulay addressed him.

  “Follow me back with Dwyn,” Aulay ordered as Alick raised Geordie up to him. Once he had his brother settled before him, he glanced around and barked, “Simon, search the woods. Find this camp and bring back the men ye find.”

  “Aye, m’laird.” The young soldier’s fair hair shone under the moonlight as he immediately began barking orders of his own. Satisfied, Aulay turned his horse and headed back along the path, headed for the keep.

  “Did Geordie’s horse return to the castle?” Dwyn asked as Alick ushered her over to his own mount.

  “Aye,” he said as he mounted. Alick then bent to catch her about the waist and lift her up before him on the horse as he added, “The men on the wall immediately raised the alarm. Aulay and I were just helping to break down the trestle tables and joined the men riding out.”

  Dwyn nodded as he settled her in his lap and urged his horse around.

  “How bad was the wound, Dwyn?”

  She glanced around at the worry in his voice, and swallowed before saying, “Bad,” in a weak voice.

  As quiet as the word had been, Alick apparently heard it. Expression grim, he spurred his mount to a gallop. Even so, Aulay was still a good three horse lengths in front of them when they entered the bailey. By the time Alick reined in at the foot of the steps to the keep, Aulay had dropped off of his horse with his burden and was carrying Geordie up the stairs, barking orders as he went.

  Dwyn slid off of Alick’s horse the moment he stopped, and chased after Aulay, following him up the steps as quickly as she could.

  “Dwyn,” Alick shouted, and then cursed behind her. She heard his boots on the steps as he hurried after her, but was still startled when he scooped her up off her feet.

  “Put me down, Alick. I want to see if Geordie is—”

  “I’ll carry ye, lass. Yer feet are bleeding again. There’s a trail o’ bloody footprints up the stairs,” he said grimly.

  Dwyn glanced over his shoulder, shocked to see there was indeed blood on the steps. It wasn’t full footprints, but half a bloody print, and just drops of blood from the other. Turning back, she raised her feet to get a look at the tops of them, and saw that her slipper was missing off her good foot, and the linen unraveled and hanging down from her ankle on the other. She wasn’t sure when she’d lost the slipper, probably when she’d been dragged backward so abruptly, but she hadn’t even noticed. Nor had she noticed her linen wrappings unraveling.

  Sighing, Dwyn let her feet drop and turned to look for Aulay as Alick carried her through the keep door Drostan was holding open. She wasn’t surprised to find the people in the great hall all up and about. Alick had said they were just breaking down the trestle tables when Geordie’s riderless horse returned and the alarm was called. She supposed the others had given up any idea of sleeping until the men returned and they knew what was about. Now the inhabitants of Buchanan watched silently as she and Geordie were carried to the stairs.

  Dwyn heard her name gasped and glanced around as her sisters rushed forward from the crowd, her father close behind them. It was only then she realized it wasn’t just servants and soldiers in the great hall; many of the visiting women and their escorts were below still too, and had been waiting.

  “Oh, Dwyn, yer poor feet,” Aileen moaned as she reached them and hurried along beside Alick.

  “What happened?” Una asked grimly on her heels. “Geordie looks badly hurt.”

  “We were attacked.” Dwyn sighed the words, her head swiveling to look toward Aulay again. She had no idea when Geordie had lost consciousness, but he obviously was now. His head was hanging over Aulay’s arm, his face slack and pale as death.

  “Was it Brodie?” Una asked sharply, and Dwyn glanced around, a frown claiming her lips.

  “I do no’ ken. They did no’ mention Brodie,” she admitted wearily, and then they’d reached the steps and Aileen and Una were forced to drop back behind them as Alick started to jog up the stairs.

  Dwyn forgot them then, her attention wholly on Geordie’s slack face as Alick carried her quickly up the steps and followed Aulay into Geordie’s room as she heard Jetta say, “Set him on the bed, husband.”

  Dwyn glanced around the room to see that Rory was already there as well, fresh linens and his medicinals at the ready.

  “What happened?” Rory asked, his eyes finding hers as he stepped back to allow Aulay to lay Geordie on the bed.

  “He took a sword through the back. It came out the front,” Dwyn said at once, knowing that was what he was asking. She then added, “His lower chest, mayhap his upper stomach. ’Twas too dark to see properly.”

  Rory nodded and then stepped back up beside Aulay to cut away the strip of skirt she’d tied tightly around his wound. He and Aulay then worked together to remove Geordie’s plaid and shirt.

  Alick carried Dwyn around to the other side of the bed, and set her down. She resisted the urge to crawl closer on the bed, and stayed out of the way, watching anxiously as they held Geordie upright to get his chest bare. She winced when she saw the wound to his back. It was a little more than two inches across, she saw, when Rory washed the blood away. He paused briefly then—she assumed to see how quickly the blood bubbled back up—and then grunted and pressed a wadded-up linen to it with one hand as he shifted to look at the front of his chest.

  Dwyn immediately crawled closer then so that she could help hold Geordie upright as Aulay had to release him and step out of the way for Rory to look at his front.

  “Well?” Aulay demanded as Rory washed the blood from Geordie’s chest.

  Rory glanced up and then frowned when he saw the way Dwyn was straining to hold Geordie upright for him
. “Alick, climb on the bed and hold Geordie up. Dwyn, move closer to the edge of the bed so Jetta can start work on yer feet.” Those orders given, he still ignored Aulay’s question and started to do something to Geordie’s chest that she couldn’t see, and then she was distracted by Alick climbing up the center of the bed.

  Dwyn shifted her legs aside for him, and then released Geordie and shifted her bottom over too to get out of the way as he took over holding him up. She continued shifting sideways until she reached the edge of the bed, and then glanced toward Geordie again as Rory murmured, “It missed his heart. However, I think it might have nicked one lung. He’s lost a lot o’ blood. No’ as much as he could have though, thanks to Dwyn binding him up tight.” He raised his head to glance to her and nodded solemnly. “Good job, lass.”

  She managed a smile, but her lips trembled with it.

  “So that’s what happened to yer skirts.”

  Dwyn turned at that murmur from Jetta to see that Lady Buchanan was now kneeling next to the bed, a basin of water on the floor beside her that she was dipping a fresh scrap of linen into. Dwyn shifted her attention to her gown then, and grimaced when she saw the state of it. Her neckline had dropped as usual to reveal the tops of her nipples—not surprising after what she’d been through—but she had cut away so much of her skirts they now barely covered her knees. Dwyn merely sighed at the sight, but she did think she probably wouldn’t be at all bothered by the bedding ceremony if they ever had a wedding. Everyone had pretty much seen the better part of her anyway.

  “I wish ye’d cut a little more off to cover yer feet though,” Jetta said grimly as she gently clasped her feet and looked at one and then the other.

  Dwyn considered curling her legs so she could look at the bottoms of her feet, but decided she didn’t want to know how bad they were. While she hadn’t felt a thing while struggling to get Geordie out of the woods, they were paining her something terrible now and she knew she’d done them more damage running about the woods, and then dragging Geordie on the plaid. She’d had to dig her feet in to pull his weight and knew she’d been digging into branches and whatnot as she had.