My Cursed Highlander

by Kimberly Killion

  Before she could gather a thought, he groped her like they were old lovers, squeezing her breasts, her hips, her backside. “The Medici be feedin’ you well, sì?”

  Ignoring his insult, she shoved at his hands. “Unhand me you filthy pig.” Damned if she would let the bastard rape her without a struggle. She drew Alberto’s instructions from her memory as she formed a fist, and then swung. She hit him in the neck.

  Mannaggia! He was a big man.

  He coughed, giving her time to rear back her foot and kick him in the shins. He yielded little reaction to her petty attack, so she reached up, searching for his face, and squeezed his ears between the palms of her hands and dug the pads of her thumbs into his eye sockets. She’d learned a few tricks while married to Luciano.

  “Ow! You bitch!”

  Smack.

  The bastard slapped her—hard. Harder than Luciano ever had. The sting thawed her icy skin as pain ripped through her cheek and pulsed in her jaw.

  He grabbed hold of her bodice and flung her off the rock. Limbs flailing, she landed on her stomach, her face buried in the grass. The air rushed from her lungs. She rose up on her hands and knees tangled in the weight of her water-soaked gown and attempted to escape, but he was on her, straddling her back, mounting her like a horse.

  “Mind your temper, princess, lest I be tempted to sell you back to the Medici tarnished.”

  Princess? Somewhere in her mind, panic gripped her. She opened her mouth to scream, but his weight squelched her cry. With one arm awkwardly stretched behind her back, he flipped her over. She sucked in air. “I’m no princess.”

  “You traveled to Turin by litter in a carriage painted with the Medici crest. I be thinkin’ you hold some status.”

  “No!” she screamed, but his hand crushed her mouth, muffling her plea. If Taveon and the others were dead, why would the bastard take care to keep her quiet? They were alive. They had to be.

  She bucked and thrashed beneath him, the skirmish drawing forth memories of her marriage to Luciano. Her fingers curled around his scalp and ripped out clumps of hair while her teeth sank into his hand. The rusty taste of blood was bitter on her tongue and desperation overcame the emotion of fear.

  “You be a hellion.” He captured her hands in front of her and sat back on her stomach.

  She kicked, for all the good it did her and cried out with what little air remained inside her.

  The sharp tip of a knife poked her beneath her ear. “Shut yer hole.”

  She stilled, heart pounding. Come back for me, her mind cried out as hot tears fell over her temple.

  Still, no one came.

  She was alone and at the mercy of the Devil’s own, the same as she’d been every night in the villa with Luciano.

  “Yap, yap, yap…”

  “Miocchi.” she said in hoarse whisper. A glimmer of hope surged in her chest as the approaching sprint of her beloved pet grew closer. Within seconds Miocchi growled like a rabid beast beside them. Without conscious, Viviana settled beneath the man and turned toward Miocchi. “Kill.”

  The man’s fist connected with the side of her head the same instance she gave the command. Excruciating pain surged through her temple just as Miocchi lunged atop them.

  Her hands fell away to the ground in loose fists as the blackness behind her eyes took over her mind and delivered her into peaceful tranquility.

  * * *

  “Save yourselves. Go home to your bairns if ye have them.” Taveon held his sword at a threatening angle and stared down the six remaining brigands, one of whom appeared to have wet himself.

  Opposite the fire, Monroe matched Taveon’s pose. Blood glinted over their blades and raised wide-eyed fear on each of the men’s faces.

  “Scat,” Monroe hissed at them and sent the last of their opponents scurrying off into the woodland like frightened lizards.

  “Molly-coddling cowards!” Remi yelled after them and held his hand over his waist. Blood seeped between the cracks of his fingers.

  “Remi, you’re—”

  “‘Tis a scratch,” Remi assured him. “Where’s the lunger?”

  Taveon clutched his chest to ease the burning and searched the area. Bloodied corpses piled two deep at their feet, but their appointed leader did not lie among the masses. “Monroe, collect any weapons ye can find among the dead. Remi, put out the fire and ready the horses. I’m going back for Viviana, and then we’re crossing the border.”

  “Into the mountain? Tonight?” Monroe asked in a tone that called him witless.

  With his broadsword, Taveon pointed at the inane death surrounding them. “These men were townsfolk. Husbands, fathers, not warriors. They were men of craft—common plebs, hoping to fill their coffers on Lorenzo’s sympathies. I’ve no doubt reivers run the border between Italy and France. Real fighting men who wield weapons as a way of life. While I do not fear these men, I will not subject Viviana to such dangers. The moon is full and will guide us. Tonight. Do I have your agreement?”

  “Aye.” Remi and Monroe said in unison, no doubt inspired by his speech, then separated.

  Using his broadsword, Taveon hacked through the brambles until he reached the top of the knoll. “Viviana!” he bellowed, anxious to get moving.

  No answer.

  “Viviana, come out. ‘Tis safe.” He started down the knoll toward the loch, guided by moonlight’s silver haze.

  Mist separated. A man lay in a line at the base of the flat rock. The lunger.

  Then he saw her, lying flat on her back with Miocchi bent over her. She wasn’t moving.

  His heart arrested.

  “No,” he whispered. “No!” Consumed with terror, he raced down the damp embankment, dropped his broadsword, and fell to his knees beside her. The dark red blood smeared over her white skin made him want to weep.

  “Venus.” He touched her face. ‘Twas like ice. Cold as death. He jerked back and shook his head, denying what was right before his eyes. The rose-red lips he’d kissed just an hour before were now silver-blue.

  She was dead. Oh, God, she was dead!

  The beggar woman’s prophecy came true.

  A knot of despair thickened in his throat. The sight sent him into a trance and the pain in his heart was unbearable. This pain was what Da tried to protect him from. The same pain Da bore for a decade after losing Janetta.

  “Viviana!” he cried out, shaking his head.

  Miocchi whined and licked Viviana’s cheek and only then did Taveon notice the blood staining the dog’s muzzle. He looked back at the lunger. The man’s throat had been ripped clean out of his neck. Beneath him was a puddle of blood glistening in the moonlight.

  He looked at Miocchi. “Did ye do that?”

  Again, the dog whined and crouched close to Viviana. He’d tried to protect her.

  “So cold.”

  Taveon’s head snapped. “Viviana?” He bent over her, face to face, and felt the warmth of her exhale. A flood of emotions surged through him, but none as strong as relief. He kissed her cold lips, her cheeks, her eyes, and held her frigid hands between them.

  “You came back.” Her words were barely audible, but they were words just the same.

  “Are ye hurt?” Taveon inspected her chest, searching for a wound he did not find. The blood wasn’t hers. ‘Twas the lunger’s.

  “I’m cold.” Her chin quivered. Her teeth clicked.

  Taveon fastened his broadsword at his hip and scooped Viviana up in his arms. Her gown soaked him instantly. “Shite! Why are ye wet, sweetling?”

  “I hid. In the water. It was cold.”

  “So ye keep saying.” He rushed up the knoll with Miocchi nipping at his heels. Foolish woman. He wanted to scold her, to demand she never frighten him so again, instead he cradled her tight and carefully worked his way through the woodland. Darkness encompassed him within the cloak of trees, but he followed his nose toward soot and ash back to their campsite. By the time he entered the clearing, she shook violently. He had to get her warm, e
lse she’d slip into the fever.

  Taveon stepped over two dead men and into the circle where their fire had been only moments before. “What happened to the damn fire?” he yelled at Remi who was securing the bridle on one of their horses.

  Remi turned, his scowl smoothed to instant upset. “Ye gods! Is she dead?”

  “She will be if I cannae get her warm. What happened to the damn fire?” Frustration ate away the last of his patience.

  “Ye told me to put it out.” Remi grabbed the burnt stick he’d used earlier to stoke the fire and stirred loose a few coals out of the dirt. Sparks flitted into the air, mocking Taveon’s efforts.

  “Damn-it-to-Hell! Drag the smithie out of the way and spread a fur where the ground is still warm.”

  Remi rushed to do his bidding, just as Monroe walked out of the eastern thicket, arms laden with an arsenal; swords, dirks, crossbows and two satchels of bolts. “Christ-all-bleeding-mighty.”

  Taveon looked down at her and a growing panic swelled in his gut.

  Her brows puckered in misery, her lips parted, and then her shivering ceased all at once. “He’s dead,” she whispered.

  “Shhh.” Taveon dipped his head and kissed her cheek. She was so cold, he feared death awaited her. Damned if he would lose her like this. “Make haste, Remi.”

  Monroe dumped the collection of weaponry on the ground and pushed the remaining orange coals back with a charred piece of wood. Remi made quick work of laying the fur atop the ground. Taveon dropped to his knees and laid her gently atop the fur already warming beneath her. He straddled her legs and tore at the ties at her waist.

  “Per favore, Luciano, nient’altro. Smetta di danneggiarlo.” She mumbled incoherent thoughts in her native tongue, pleading with a man who no longer lived. She guarded her face and cried out. “Luciano, no!”

  She fought Taveon as he worked the buttons of her bodice. Her words and her actions told him all he needed to know about her deceased husband. He wished the bastard was alive so he could kill him. Raw fury made his hands shake, but he remained focused on undressing her.

  “Yap, yap, yap.” Miocchi danced nervously beside them, no doubt confused by her behavior. He howled and scratched the ground, then the beast’s protective instinct came full force to the surface. He growled, stared Taveon in the eyes, and bared sharp, white teeth surrounded by blood-stained fur.

  “Shite!” Taveon’s emotions spun in chaos. The beastie was going to attack him the same as he had the lunger. He had to ground her back in the present before the dog lunged at him. He glanced at Monroe. “Give me the amulet.”

  Without pause, Monroe retrieved the talisman from inside his doublet and set it in Taveon’s awaiting hand. He pressed the stone into Viviana’s palm and laced their fingers together. His gazed fixed on Remi first before he slowly scanned Miocchi and Monroe. He then directed his attention back to her and bent to kiss the backs of her eyes. Let me in, he begged silently. “‘Tis me, Taveon.”

  Her head lolled, and her struggle ceased. “Goliath?”

  “Aye.” The name she’d chosen for him raised his lips at the corners, and her gentle tone seemed to calm Miocchi’s spirits. “Ye are safe. Luciano is dead.”

  “I know.” She nodded beneath his chin and touched his cheek. “Miocchi killed him.”

  Taveon’s respect for the dog increased tenfold in that moment. He intended to do everything within his power to see the beastie safely to Scotland. For now, he had to get Viviana’s cooperation. “Be still, sweetling, and let me take care of ye.” He resumed the task of shedding articles of her wet gown a piece at a time until he’d stripped her to her undertunic. The threadbare garment clung to her ample curves like buttermilk and nigh glowed in the light of the moon.

  He inhaled and ignored the twitching in his bollocks. Now was not the time to let lust take hold of his wits.

  Gulp.

  He swore he heard Remi and Monroe swallow above him. Taveon cocked his head and found his kinsmen gawking shamelessly at her. “The women would not be pleased with either of ye.”

  They shook their heads, yet made no effort to look away.

  “She is my wife,” Taveon began through clenched teeth while possessiveness sent the blood racing through his ears. “If the two o’ ye value your sight, I suggest ye guard your eyes, else I’ll gouge them out.”

  “Aye, m’laird,” they said in unison.

  “Remi, fetch me a wool. Monroe, scout the area for the six men we cut loose and secure the woodland to the north.”

  His kinsmen set to their tasks without pause, leaving him in a false privacy he didn’t even pretend to trust. With her breaths coming slow and shallow, protecting her modesty was the least of his concerns. Taveon removed his fur-trimmed doublet and tunic in a single pull, then ripped through the laces of her undergarment and pushed the linen over her shoulders to her hips. Her skin, covered in gooseflesh, grew paler, and night’s bitter air whipped over him like a cat-o’-nine tails.

  Viviana, however, seemed unaffected by the wintry sting. In fact, she didn’t move.

  He flattened himself atop her and inhaled sharply when their bare skin connected.

  Oh, God, she was cold. ‘Twas like hugging an ice sculpture.

  With his face buried in her hair, he closed his eyes and willed her to be strong. “Dinnae leave me,” he whispered in her ear and hoped his body’s warmth would be enough to save her.

  Long moments passed before the drape of wool slid over his back. Remi stood beside them in uncomfortable silence, witnessing a weakness impossible for Taveon to hide. Somehow the woman had snuck into his guarded heart. A place he’d protected since Da died. A place now filled with agony and despair.

  “What would ye have me do now, m’laird?” Remi crouched beside them to console Miocchi, who’d yet to leave her side.

  Taveon wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her upright. “Secure the wool around us as well as the fur. I have to get her warm.”

  As Remi bound them together in a heated cocoon, Viviana’s trembling returned with a vengeance. ‘Twas a good sign.

  “M’laird, I fear we’ve got company,” Monroe stalked out of the woodland, sword in hand. “There are riders south of the loch.”

  “Ouish!” Was God testing him? “How many riders?”

  “I know not, but ‘tis more than I care to fight.”

  Taveon agreed with the dip of his head, “Mount up. Remi, put Miocchi’s coat on him and see that he keeps the pace. We’re going into the mountains.”

  Chapter 14

  Mother Nature was a devious and cruel woman.

  Taveon exhaled into the wool wrapped around his face while sleet sliced the skin around his tired eyes. Tears formed as he searched for the old Roman road beneath a snow covered landscape. A high moon struggled to break through the frozen mist and only added to his current frustrations. He guided his powerful stallion with his boot heels and held Viviana’s naked body against his bare chest inside layers of wool and fur. With her arms tucked between them and her legs curled intimately around his waist, not an ounce of her skin was exposed to the weather—still, she shivered.

  For the nonce, she seemed content to sleep, which was fortunate as he doubted she would hold much appreciation for the length of his cock.

  Ouish. He was a lecherous swine. She could slip into a fever and all he could think about was making love to her. The last thing he needed was an erection, but the rocking gait of their steed moved her against him in ways he found erotic and damned if he could stop the images in his head from sending the blood rushing to his groin.

  Seeking a distraction, he hummed a childhood tune and drew circles around the knobs of her spine. With every warm breath she blew against his flesh, his hunger for her increased tenfold, and the material of his braies did little to hide his desire.

  Taveon glanced over his shoulder. Remi and Monroe followed with two of Lorenzo’s high-bred mares tied behind carrying their belongings. Miocchi jogged alongside in an orange a
nd green wool coat now accessorized with make-shift fur booties. The dog looked ridiculous, but Taveon suspected he was warm and that was all that mattered.

  “How is she?” The howling wind brought Monroe’s words to him.

  Taveon lowered the wool to his chin. “She’s cold. I cannae get her warm enough.”

  “Then we stop.” Monroe pointed toward a recess in the side of the mountain.

  Taveon nodded and took hold of the reigns, eager to escape the elements.

  Once inside the cavern, the bravado that had once been the wind subsided to a whistle. He removed his hood and uncoiled the wool around his face, then inhaled a sharp breath of ice. His nostrils burned as did his throat while he inspected the entry. Moonlight shone into the cavern and sparkled like starlight over drippings of ice sculptures.

  Monroe dismounted. “‘Tis by no means a proper place to bed down, but I suspect our choices are few.”

  “Aye. ‘Tis safe though. No mon with any wit would have followed us. We can press on toward Montreux at dawn. Tend the horses. Drape each of them in a pelt and then lay every wool and remaining fur out for us.” Taveon stood in the stirrups and struggled to dismount with Viviana in his arms. His back ached, his thighs ached. Hell, his entire being ached, but not a muscle in his body suffered as much as his cock.

  While Remi saw to their mounts, Monroe followed Taveon and spread a fur over a flat area. “Dinnae fret, m’laird. She will pull through.”

  Taveon nodded, and Monroe left him to tend his wife. Worry gripped his insides as he set Viviana atop the fur. She curled into a ball instantly, her teeth hammering a tune that echoed throughout the cavern. He feared she might freeze to death in the seconds it took him to strip out of his boots and chausses to join her.

  Only moments later, he nestled beneath a mound of blankets with his wife once again wrapped around him. She felt like a corpse. He tangled his bare legs with hers and rounded his palms over her frigid backside. “Get warm, Venus,” he whispered into her hair, but she only whimpered in his embrace.