Highlander's Challenge

by Jo Barrett

  He agreed with her suspicions. She felt honored by it in some way. “You think they want to take over the island, is that it?” she asked.

  “Aye. Arreyder stands on the crag overlooking the Sound of Mull where Loch Linne and the Firth of Lorne meet. ‘Tis a most strategic position.”

  She nodded, clearly understanding the strategy. “No clue as to who they are?”

  He stood and paced to the window. “Nay. We have lived a good many years in peace on the isle. But the men who ambushed us were MacKenzies. So I must assume they are working together.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his arms folded.

  “But what you don’t know is whether or not I’m working with them,” she said.

  He nodded solemnly.

  She moved closer and rested one hand on the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. “I’m no threat to you or the clan. I honestly didn’t ask to be here. It just sort of happened,” she said with a shrug. “Let me go, MacLean. I’m not the enemy.” Although, she didn’t have a clue how to get back to Jenny, she at least wanted to know she could leave when she wanted without any trouble.

  He slowly dropped his hands. “I would like tae believe you, lass, but I canna chance it. If you aren’t the enemy, then you must remain here until ‘tis safe for you tae leave.”

  “I can take perfectly good care of myself.”

  He eyed her wrist, and she decided it would be best to keep quiet on that point. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as before, but she hadn’t done it any good wrestling with Robby’s father.

  Crossing the room, he stopped before her. “Be you a friend or foe, I’m responsible for your life, just as I’m responsible for every man, woman, and child on MacLean land.”

  “You don’t want me here, you don’t trust me, and I didn’t ask to be anyone’s responsibility.”

  “I only wish tae keep you safe.” He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “I’ll not find you in the wood with your pretty throat slit.”

  His touch was like electricity licking her skin, traveling over the most sensitive parts of her body. She wanted him to kiss her and oh so much more, although she knew it was dangerous stuff. They weren’t meant for one another. She was from a different time and place, one he could never begin to understand. But that didn’t stop her ever-increasing heartbeat or the flush of heat between her legs.

  His gaze held hers, and she knew he felt the same pull, the overwhelming desire to lose themselves in one another. He opened his hand and slipped his callused fingers into her hair at the base of her neck. Leaning into his caress, she relished the unexpected tenderness of his touch.

  Then he pulled away, his fingers curled into a fist. “You may have freedom tae move about the keep, but remain inside the walls. A guard will be with you at all times.”

  He turned and crossed to the door. “And put on some proper clothes,” he tossed back over his shoulder.

  Her mouth snapped closed with that last order. “Tyrant,” she grumbled, and turned toward the darkness out the window. She caught her reflection in the watery glass and tentatively touched her cheek, then her lips, remembering the exquisite feel of him.

  “One of us has to be crazy.”

  The next morning, a smiling Fiona arrived after breakfast, hoping for another Tai Chi lesson. But this one was going to cost her a favor. Tuck took a few minutes to explain what she needed to the giggling girl then proceeded to demonstrate her latest lesson.

  Fiona caught on quickly, but she had a bit of a temper. She was so frustrated with her skirts getting in the way of her exercises, she nearly ripped them to shreds while cursing a blue streak in a mix of Gaelic and English. Poor Michael had his hands full with this one.

  She managed to save the girl’s clothes by suggesting she knot them at her waist so she could move more freely. The tight bodice, however, was a different story. It had to go. Once she was set, they began again. She envied Fiona for her petite beauty and natural grace.

  A choked gasp brought their heads around as they performed a slow turn, crossing one foot in front of the other.

  “Just a minute, Elspeth. She’s almost got it,” Tuck said, as they completed the last step. “There, perfect. You’re a natural, Fiona.”

  “I’m hopin’ that means what I’m thinkin’.”

  Tuck chuckled. “It does.”

  “What are you—why is she—explain yourself,” Elspeth sputtered, her hands splayed on her hips.

  “I’m teaching Fiona a few exercises.”

  “Whatever for? She gets enough work as ‘tis.”

  “Oh, well, uh, it’s a way to relax. To unwind.”

  Fiona sighed as she untied her skirts and laced up her bodice. “‘Tis no use, Tuck. She knows things, she has the sight. We might as well tell her.”

  “Look, Elspeth.” Tuck draped her long arm over her shoulder. “I’m just teaching her a few moves in case she ever needs to defend herself.”

  “Fighting is for the men,” Elsepth said, puffed up like a mother hen.

  “Yeah, well, I won’t argue that one. Even though you’re wrong,” Tuck said. “But it’s a rough life here. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. You never know what might happen. You’re not going to squeal on us are you?”

  “I dinnae know. It doesna seem proper, a young lass learning such things.”

  Tuck ignored the unintended dig. Elspeth wouldn’t hurt a soul, but the fact remained she was a lass, and she knew how to fight. Did that make her less of a woman to these people? To MacLean? Was that why he didn’t want to kiss her again?

  Geez, when would she make up her mind? First she wanted him to see her as a soldier, now as a woman.

  Shaking off her annoying waffling, she said, “I tell you what, Elspeth. Why don’t you come back for her next lesson tomorrow morning and watch? If I do something or show her something you think isn’t proper, you can shout out. Okay?”

  The older woman pondered it a bit, her brow crinkling. “Verra well. I’ll watch, but I’ll not be having any of your nonsense. You’ll stop when I say stop,” she said, wagging her finger in Tuck’s face.

  She snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Elspeth grinned wryly. “Off with you, Fiona. ‘Tis time tae tend your duties.”

  With a wave and a wink that she’d return shortly, Fiona was gone.

  “I know you care for the girl, dear,” Elspeth said as she turned to her. “But mind you, be careful. I wouldna want any trouble between her and Michael, you ken?”

  Tuck held up her hand, and vowed, “I promise.”

  “Good,” Elspeth said, patting her cheek.

  She giggled softly at Elspeth’s mothering, welcoming the sensation, having never felt it before. Or at least none worth remembering. Those memories always brought back the pain.

  “Now I’ve come tae ask a favor. I hope you dinnae mind,” Elspeth said.

  There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for Elspeth. “Whatever you want, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “‘Tis the laird.” Her usually bright face fell with her words. “Maighread was called away last eve tae a cottage some distance from here. She’ll not be returning anytime soon, and I need help tending tae Douglas. He doesna take his healing drafts well and with you being such a big bonny lass and ye have the skill, I thought…you see, he minds Maighread, but doesna take kindly tae others.”

  Tuck nodded. “Of course I’ll help.” She may as well make herself useful until she could figure out how to get back to her own time. A time without incredibly sexy Highlanders whose kisses were more passionate than anything she’d ever imagined.

  But whose ogre-like tendencies drove her insane, she added to that thought, chiding herself for getting caught up in her stupid fantasies again.

  “Thank you, lass. I’ll come and fetch you after the midday meal.” Elspeth toddled out, her smile once again gracing her round face.

  Tuck readied herself for Fiona’s return, eager to play her next card in the battle of wil
ls between her and MacLean.

  ****

  Colin sat down at the long table in the great hall, his mind not on his meal. He should be well and tired, his body fatigued from training with the men, but he still felt restless.

  It was that blasted woman and that unforgettable kiss. She was seeping into his blood like a sickness. No matter how many hours he trained, no matter how cold the wind atop the battlements, he could not drive her from his mind.

  He absently sipped from his cup, relishing the lack of herbs and the pestering of his cousin. Glad he was she’d been called away to a birthing.

  An unnatural silence fell on the hall. He lifted his head and followed the gazes of his men. All eyes were on Amelia.

  His mouth fell open as his anger boiled. What in bleedin’ hell was she doing wearing a kilt?

  She strode across the room to her place at the table with a slightly pale Michael trailing behind her. The only sounds were her heavy footsteps from her odd boots as she crossed the stone floor.

  “You,” he said lowly. “Come here.”

  She paused and considered the matter, then casually strolled toward him, and stopped by his side. “Did you want something?”

  “Sit.”

  Her gaze darted to the bench beside him. She lifted her foot to slide in, showing a goodly amount of bare thigh before she sat. He gripped his cup tightly, holding in his groan.

  She turned her head, her chin at a jaunty angle, and grinned cockily. “Happy now?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What are you about?”

  “I’m about to have lunch.”

  He snarled at her comment and the growing pain in his head. “Your clothes, you taupie,” he snapped.

  She set down her cup and glanced around the hall, taking her time to respond. “I put on some proper clothes.”

  A faint snicker or two reached his ears. He turned to see the entire room either gawking or laughing behind their hands.

  “Go about your business,” he ordered.

  The sounds in the great hall returned to normal, albeit much more subdued. He’d wager every ear was turned to his discussion with this arrogant female beside him.

  “You know what I meant,” he grumbled. “You were tae put on woman’s clothes.”

  “But that’s not what you said. You said proper clothes. These are the proper clothes for a soldier. Which is what I am.”

  He leaned in close to her ear, hating himself for noticing her tantalizing scent. “You sit here only because I wish tae save you the embarrassment of displaying your backside tae every eye in the room. Else I’d throw you over my shoulder and toss you back intae your chamber and leave you tae starve.”

  “Huh, like you could. But even though I am a soldier, I’m not quite as free beneath my kilt as you,” she said, and stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth.

  He ignored her continued bletherin’ about being a soldier, determined to gain the upper hand, and leaned closer, nearly touching her ear with his lips. “Mayhap I should help you tae your chamber and find out for myself,” he murmured, his voice laden with suggestion.

  She choked and frantically reached for her cup, her cheeks burning brightly. He smacked her on the back a time or two, more than pleased.

  Quickly regaining her composure, she shot him a glare. “You try it and you can forget about ever having any heirs.”

  “Blast you, woman,” he said, irritated with her quick footedness. “Go back tae your chamber and change. Wear whatever the devil you like, but doona e’er show yourself in a mon’s kilt again or I will rip it from you no matter the audience.”

  She swallowed another bite of her meal, took a slow sip from her cup then quietly left the great hall. He’d lost this battle, but the lass would not be so lucky the next time.

  ****

  Happily back in her comfy jeans, Tuck followed Elspeth down the hall toward the laird’s room. She shuddered as the image of MacLean throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her to her bed repeatedly flashed through her mind. It was definitely the stuff dreams were made of, or scathingly erotic fantasies. Either way, she was having one serious sexual meltdown, but how would it end? With a bang or a fizzle?

  Elspeth paused at the chamber door, putting a halt to the irritating questions and the disturbing changes happening inside her. She had a task to perform, and she refused to let Elspeth down.

  “Mind you, he can be verra stubborn, although he’s weak,” Elspeth said.

  “Not a problem. I’ve dealt with plenty of stubborn men in my time.”

  Her eyes twinkled with her grin. “Aye, that you have.” She turned and led Tuck into the room.

  The first thing Tuck noticed was the gloom. The heavy tapestry drapes were pulled together, shutting out the sun. Eerie shadows cast by the fire flickered over the bed where the MacLean Laird lay. She’d expected a sickroom odor, but found none. Only stale air, and an odd smell she couldn’t place.

  Her eyes caught sight of a small brazier on the floor by the bed. A thin trail of smoke snaked into the air. Herbs of some sort, she guessed.

  Elspeth moved to a table across the room littered with various bowls and jugs. Tuck stepped up beside her as Elspeth took carefully measured spoons of the herbs and powders and combined them in a large cup.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, trying to ascertain why he’d need so many drugs.

  “He hasna been well since he was clouted over the head.” She added ale to the mix and stirred. “He canna think clearly any longer and has no want for food. We can only make him comfortable.” She cleared her throat softly. “I’ll need your help in propping him up tae take his tonic. I didna wish tae ask Colin. It grieves him so tae see his da like this.”

  “I, um, understand.” But she didn’t, never having felt much of anything for own father other than contempt. “So what’s in this thing?”

  “I dinnae know all the names. ‘Tis Maighread’s brew. It helps him rest.” Elspeth turned toward the bed and moved to the laird’s side.

  Tuck hesitated by the table, more than her curiosity peaked. Having never been left to her own resources in the bush for longer than her rations lasted, she’d never needed to rely on her knowledge of the various plants, both edible and medicinal. Now she found herself putting that information to the test.

  She took a pinch of one of the powders and carefully tasted it. Ground heather, not dangerous, but not very helpful. She moved to another container and lifted the bowl. She gingerly sniffed, but couldn’t place the plant. Although it smelled of apples, it was distinctively different.

  “Mandrake,” she hissed, her memory kicking in. The plant was commonly used in medicines over the ages, but could be poisonous. The amount Elspeth had placed in the cup wasn’t overly much, but still, what good would it do the man?

  She moved to another, recognizing it as scotch broom, harmless, then continued until she’d identified each powder. There didn’t seem to be any great threat from the many herbs as long as they were carefully administered. But all at once and mixed with ale?

  Her internal alarms blaring, she dropped the last bowl on the table, rushed across the room to Elspeth, and snatched the cup from her hands.

  “What are you doing, lass?” she gasped.

  She turned to the chamber pot sitting beside the bed and emptied the cup into it. “This stuff is killing him.”

  “But Maighread—”

  “Doesn’t know squat about medicine. All those herbs mixed together with ale is only making him sick.”

  “But the draft soothes him. It lets him rest.”

  Tuck snorted. “Oh, he’ll rest all right. In peace.”

  She set the cup on the table and went to the bedside and touched his brow. He felt unusually cold, but at least there was no fever. Sliding his limp hand from beneath the covers, she felt his pulse. Weak, way too weak. She looked over the wound at his temple. It had scabbed over, but the coloring around it was still too purple for the amount of time that he’d been laid up. It
wasn’t healing.

  “What have you been feeding him?” she asked.

  “Broth, when he would take it. With some of the herbs mixed in.”

  That explained it. Not only were they mixing all sorts of potentially poisonous plants with alcohol, a dangerous combination, they were giving him too much. He was over drugged.

  An odd thought crossed her mind. If Maighread was such a great healer, why didn’t she realize she was killing the man? She’d been taking care of him for weeks.

  She shook off her suspicions for the moment. The laird needed medical care. “No more drafts,” Tuck commanded.

  “But he needs them. Tae ease his mind, his pain.”

  She sighed heavily. This wasn’t going to be easy. “What he needs is to be left alone. Those drafts are sucking the life out of him.” She ran a hand through her hair at the look of consternation on Elspeth’s face. It would be difficult for her to turn her trust from Maighread to her, but she had to if the laird was to live.

  She grasped the older woman gently by the shoulders. “I’ll try to explain this to you as best I can. Mixing all those herbs together with ale and putting them in his food has made him weak. His body doesn’t have the strength to heal.”

  Elspeth shook her head slightly, her round face pinched with worry. “I dinnae understand.”

  “Have you ever heard the saying too much of a good thing is bad for you?”

  She looked at the man lying listlessly in the bed. “You mean tae tell me, I’ve been—I’ve been hurting him?” Her hand flew to her mouth with a choked cry.

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. First we get rid of Maighread’s potions.” Tuck marched to the table and snatched up the containers, then promptly dumped them in the chamber pot.

  “And as for this,” she lifted the lid to the brazier, and instantly felt dizzy as a waft of smoke encircled her head.

  It wasn’t opium, but she suspected it caused a distinctive effect on the nervous system. Shaking her head, she snatched the basin of water by the bed and dumped it onto the smoldering weeds.