A Highlander's Gypsy (Highland Temptations Book 2)

by Aileen Adams

  “Are you not going to ask why I needed you?” she whispered.

  “That hardly seems to matter at the moment—or would ye rather I stopped to ask ye before carrying ye away?”

  Her head tilted to the side. “I only thought you might wish to know. That it might be a problem for you.”

  He could hardly tell her what put him on that road, at that moment. That he’d been looking for her without knowing it was her he was in search of. “It isn’t. Rather, eh, I’m certain we can speak of it some other time.”

  “Some other time? How long do you intend for us to be together? I thought we were stopping here.”

  “I never said this was where we would part ways. We’re merely stopping to rest. Do ye believe I would leave ye here, in the middle of… I have no idea where we are,” he admitted. “Do ye?”

  “Nay.”

  “I was not paying attention to where we went, only how much of the road we put between ourselves and whoever it was ye were running from.” He hobbled the horse in a thick patch of moonlit grass.

  She looked down at herself. “I need to bathe. Now.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “There are clothes in my pack. Far too large for ye, of course, but clean. If ye would be interested, that is.” What was wrong with him? His tongue was thick, his speech slow. He knew not what to say to her.

  Now that he’d found her, what was next? What should he do?

  “Thank you. I would like nothing more than to burn this.” She did not meet his eyes when he handed her a tunic and trews.

  He looked toward the road again and was glad to find that he couldn’t see it from where they stood. The thick cover of trees provided protection, but they would not cover up the scent of a fire. “I won’t be able to build one,” he decided, “unless we ride a great deal farther. Throughout the night, in fact. I dinna feel safe yet.”

  She chewed her lip with small, even teeth. Good teeth. This was not a poor, wasted thing. He had so many questions but no time to ask them.

  Yet. His curiosity would not be held off forever.

  “We can keep riding if you wish, after I bathe and rid myself of these rags. It will help us if I don’t look like the person who just escaped, will it not?”

  “Aye, it will that.” And intelligent. “But you’ll catch your death of chill, riding about on a cool night such as this without having properly dried.”

  “I believe I shall take my chances. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She was off without another word, disappearing around a bend and behind a tree which seemed to grow sideways, across the stream. If she was agile enough, and she was, he recalled, seeing as how she’d all but leapt up onto the horse—she might climb across the gnarled trunk to the other side.

  Would she? He had to trust that she wouldn’t do anything so rash. He was her best chance at safety. No way could she get far on foot.

  There was splashing within moments of her having disappeared, telling him she’d shed her clothing without wasting a moment’s time. He waited impatiently, patting the horse’s neck as it grazed. To be of such single purpose. He wished he could adopt the beast’s singular attitude and concentrate on just one thing at a time.

  He might as well wish for the moon which hung above their heads.

  They had to get away. Far away. And quickly. Jacob Stuart would not let her go without a fight, not once he discovered she’d been rescued.

  Even the rescue itself had been completely by accident.

  He asked himself what might have happened if he’d decided to stop and make camp earlier rather than making up his mind to explore the lands around Stuart’s walled keep under the cover of darkness. She would have been lost to him, to be certain, likely caught by zealous guards and dragged back to her captor.

  They’d only ridden for less than an hour, meaning they had quite a lot of riding to do if they were to rest their heads with any amount of ease that night. They’d ridden west, though he did not know how far, and could now turn north. He’d have to wait until they reached a friendly village to know exactly where they were.

  Until then, distance was all that mattered. And speed.

  With this in mind, he cleared his throat. “Are ye well?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Cold.”

  “Ye can wear my cloak,” he offered, at a loss. Now that he had her, what was he to do with her? The seer had not offered advice on this.

  She emerged minutes later, her hair a sodden mess, his garments hanging from her thin body. “My feet,” she murmured. “Do you have anything I can wrap them in? I cut them quite badly back there.”

  She raised one of them, and by the light of the moon, he could see the fresh cuts and scrapes and bruises. How she was walking at all was a mystery to him.

  “This won’t do.” He pulled another precious tunic from his pack, leaving him with only what he had on his back, and tore the sleeves from it. “Back to the stream.”

  “What?”

  He had her in his arms in a flash, before she could so much as let out a shout of surprise, and dipped her kicking feet into the water. “Washing them,” he explained over her grunts as she struggled to free herself. “Would ye stop fighting, please? I wish to make it so ye dinna get infected.”

  This calmed her, and she did not fight when he lifted her atop the horse. “Now, remain still.” He wrapped both feet in the makeshift bandages. “When we reach a village, we shall have to find a healer. Ye shall need something to keep them from festering.”

  “Is it that serious?” she asked, wincing when he tightened the bandage.

  “Aye. Or, it could be. I dinna plan to go to all this trouble in saving ye just to have ye die of infection.”

  To her credit, she kept her thoughts to herself. He swung up behind her this time—better to keep her in front of him, he decided. Just one of many things to now keep in mind as he now had more than just himself to consider.

  “Here.” He held out the ends of the cloak which he still wore, allowing her to wrap them around herself before her body snuggled into his. He told himself she was merely searching for warmth and likely had no idea of her actions.

  The fact that they were so close was not lost on him, but this wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

  He turned the horse back toward the road, intending to cut across it and ride through the woods on the other side. “We can travel north now, unless your people are near. I can take ye to them instead, if you’d rather.”

  She shook her head, wet hair trailing along the front of his tunic. “We cannot go to them.”

  “Why not?”

  “We simply cannot. Do not ask me again, please.”

  “What position are ye in to give orders? I only wish to see ye delivered to safety.”

  She snorted. “Where would that be? I believed myself safe before, and then—” She said no more, and he needed to hear no more. She’d said enough.

  Even so, this left him in a difficult position. While he felt for her much more than she knew, he hadn’t intended on riding all about Scotland with the lass. Not when the Stuarts would be searching for her.

  In his mind, the journey ended upon rescuing her and delivering her to safety. Now, she would not tell him where safety was.

  They were nearing the road, which looked and sounded empty. No one had caught up to them—yet. “I believe there are a few things we ought to get straight now.”

  “Now?”

  “Aye, now. I’ve done this thing, taking ye away from whoever was looking for ye. I believe ye owe me a few bits of truth. It’s the least ye can do.”

  “Hmph.”

  “I can let ye off here if ye wish,” he suggested, pointing to the road. “There’s a cluster of trees yonder, and ye can hide behind them. Perhaps some kind soul will ride past an offer ye a ride.”

  “I see. You’ll force me to tell ye what ye wish to know. Ye believe I’m that easily frightened.”

  “I believe you’re wise enough to do as you’re asked when ye know t
he penalty. I dinna think asking who I took ye from and who will be comin’ after me because of it is a crime. On the other hand, what I did might be considered a crime. Very much so. That’s why I wish to know who ye were running from and why they had ye.”

  She was silent.

  He pulled up on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. “I mean it. Tell me, or we dinna move another inch.”

  6

  He meant it, too, the stranger who’d saved her. He meant it. Shana could tell this.

  “Well?” he prompted. “Either ye start talking, or this is where we part ways. I did all I could for ye.”

  Was she safe here? No, more than likely. She’d have no way to travel other than on foot—without shoes, with feet wrapped in bandages. No cloak. No food and no tools with which to hunt. No shelter.

  In other words, he had her trapped.

  Would he deliver on his promise to abandon her if she didn’t give him what he wished? Was she willing to take such a chance, especially after what she had already seen and suffered?

  No. She could not. The image of her suffering with festering feet, starving and shivering and most likely discovered by those hunting her loosened her tongue. “Do you vow you will not leave me when I tell you what you wish to know?”

  “Aye. I vow.”

  What choice did she have? This was her only chance at truly escaping. And he might protect her if they later came up against the men who might still be searching. She was nothing alone.

  “The man who kept the cell and brought me food used the name Jacob Stuart.”

  “I see.” The stranger sounded grim.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Nay, but there was no coincidence to my being on his land when ye happened to cross my path. I’d heard there was trouble with a group of raiders, that one of their women had been taken prisoner.”

  “And… you came looking for me?” She stiffened, tensed, prepared to run. “For the reward offered by the law?”

  “What? Nay. I care nothing for rewards—I didna know there was one until ye just made mention of it, in fact.”

  She eyed him warily. “Truly, now? You truly were unaware of the price on our heads?”

  “There’s a price on your head?”

  “You only just spoke of the raiders who were captured. I was one of them, I admit, so why would the price not be on my head as well as on theirs?”

  “Well…” He cleared his throat. “To begin with, you’re a lass. A female.”

  “And?”

  “And… I dinna believe the lawmen would consider ye such a threat that they’d put a price on your head.”

  She felt her features shift as her outrage grew. Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, jaw setting. “I see. I’m only a woman and therefore not even worthy of a bounty?”

  “Do ye have to twist my words so? I would think ye would be glad I had no plans to turn ye in and collect a reward. Instead, ye twist things around and argue with me. We have not the time for this.”

  “You are the one who brought the horse to a halt when we might have easily continued onward. Do not now speak to me of there not being much time.”

  He growled, muttering foul words under his breath. “I was not aware of there being a price on your head. I heard nothing of it—do ye not believe if there were gold involved, the men I overheard would have spoken of it? Naturally, they would have. They did speak of the gold offered for the capture of your kinsmen, though.”

  “I’m sure they did.”

  “That was why Stuart held ye, is it not? To lure them?”

  “You are smarter than you appear, at least.”

  He snickered. “You’re a fine one to speak of appearances. Is it any wonder the horse reared as he did, the way ye looked back there?”

  “That was no fault of my own.”

  “Even so. Ye might want to keep that in mind when ye speak of how another person looks.”

  “Very well, very well.” She blew out a frustrated sigh. “That is all I know. He attempted to question me. I told him nothing. He was angry. He threatened me.”

  “Ye told him nothing?”

  “I would never betray my family. Perhaps he thought it would be a simple matter. That he could frighten me or break me. He was wrong.”

  The stranger—who she supposed she should be grateful toward but could not bring herself to be—snickered. “It was a good thing ye escaped when ye did, then.”

  “I believe so.”

  “What’s your name?”

  She shook her head. “I will not tell you that. Nor will I tell you the names of my kinsmen, nor where I believe them to be now. Do not bother yourself or waste your time asking.”

  “I deserve to know.”

  “You deserve to know no such thing.”

  “After what I did for ye?”

  “You hardly did much.” She sneered. “And you might as well let me off here if you believe I’m wrong. I won’t tell you any more. Not even where they found me.”

  “I have no plans to do ill to ye or your kin.”

  “How can I believe that? Besides,” she added, “if you want nothing to do with them, there is no need to know their names. Or mine.”

  He hesitated, looking over his shoulder, to the sides. Wondering how much time they had wasted, how many were after them. How close they were.

  “You can leave me,” she reminded him, now knowing he wouldn’t. If he had such devilry in him, he would’ve done it by now. Once he knew she was running from a Stuart, a clan even she with her limited understanding knew was powerful.

  “Hush.”

  “Truly,” she pressed. “He doesn’t know you took me, and I don’t know your name. You might still get away and never be the worse for having freed me. I’ll always remember you in my prayers.”

  “My, but you’re one for driving a point home.” He did not order her off the horse or make any further threats. Instead, he pressed his legs and heels into the horse’s sides and continued across the road with Shana still firmly between his arms.

  “You won’t desert me?”

  “I will not. We’ve already come too far.”

  “But he doesn’t know you.”

  “Are ye trying to talk me into deserting ye, then?”

  “I am not.”

  “Then for the love of all that’s holy, would ye please let me think a thought without always talking so? I’m trying to make a plan, and all ye can do is talk.”

  “Forgive me, then,” she muttered. She had no place to be upset with him or to even show him the sharp side of her tongue, but he struck her as a rather snide man, full of his own glory and heroism, and she had always had a deep distaste for such men.

  It wasn’t even as though he’d fought anyone for her.

  “I can take ye back to Richard’s,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “He wouldn’t turn ye away.”

  “Who is Richard?”

  “I seem to recall asking ye to keep your thoughts to yourself while I think.”

  “You cannot think while another person is talking?”

  “Not while they’re asking questions, ye devil woman. Silence!”

  She obeyed, though unwillingly, eyes searching the moonlit woods for signs of danger. It was the least she could do while he thought out his plan. Only the occasional sound of an owl calling out in the darkness caught her attention, or the occasional flapping of bats’ wings.

  She’d always hated bats. One had entered her tent as a child and tangled itself in her hair while she’d screamed and thrashed. Now, years later, she understood that it was just as terrified as she’d been.

  Though that hardly endeared the nasty little creatures to her.

  The horse they rode was a beauty. She hadn’t lied to the old man in the dungeon when she’d told the story of sleeping with the horses as a child. She’d always felt a deep fondness for the beasts. A connection she sometimes did not feel toward other people.

  Yet she could not agree with the old man, who�
�d seemed to hate people and thus turned to horses for companionship. She did not hate people. She’d only felt as a child, and sometimes as a grown woman, that people did not understand her.

  Animals had never judged her.

  The man behind her fell silent, no longer muttering to himself. “Might I speak now?” she whispered.

  “For the love of all that’s holy.”

  She waited. “Does that mean aye or nay?” she asked when he offered no further response.

  “What do ye want to say?”

  “I merely wished to know who Richard is. You would not tell me.”

  “Ye refuse to tell me who ye are. Why should I tell ye who Richard is?”

  “There is a very good reason for me to not tell you who I am, and you know it. The two are hardly the same.”

  “There is a very good reason for me not to tell ye who Richard is—in fact, I ought not have spoken his name aloud. If we’re caught, and someone asks ye where we were going, ye might reveal the name to them. That would endanger him when he has not the first idea we’re on our way.”

  “I spoke nothing of my kinsmen when Jacob Stuart threatened me with torture.”

  “They are your kinsmen. He is not. Nor am I. I canna trust ye to keep silent, and it would be a great burden for ye as well, which I would not wish to place upon ye. Leave it be,” he grunted when she drew a breath, prepared to further argue the point.

  There was no use in fighting. And she was too tired. Now that she’d covered a good deal of ground and was no longer in the clutches of sheer panic, her muscles were sore and weak. Her head ached. She began having difficulty keeping her eyes open.

  “Tired,” she murmured, blinking hard.

  “We had best make camp for a few hours. It will be morning soon, and they’ll be looking for us.”

  For us. One small word, yet it meant a great many things.

  She allowed herself to rest against him, and he permitted her to do it. While she wasn’t completely certain she could trust him—men had never been trustworthy in her experience—she could at least rest her weary body against his and let him hold her up as his beautiful horse carried them further from the Stuarts with every step.