My Highland Bride (Highland Hearts #2)

by Maeve Greyson

  Bubbling water, clearer than the finest crystal, danced and gurgled across a smooth bed of larger stones dotting the center of the creek. Kenna gingerly worked her way down the steep embankment until she reached an open bend that smoothed out into a wide shallow strand of gray-white pebbles. Perfect. She could break through the coating of ice and wash up without having to perch on the edge of the bank like a bird at a watering trough. The memory of the steep ravine she’d so recently survived sent a series of shivers through her. Kenna blinked hard and took a deep breath. She’d definitely had enough perching to last her a lifetime.

  Squatting at the stream’s edge, Kenna knotted the tails of the plaid about her waist and plunged her hands in the icy water. Her fingers burned with the freezing cold as she splashed the water on her throat and scrubbed the mud from her décolleté.

  A nagging sense of something not quite right plagued her worse than the sting of the biting wind. Kenna tried to shake the feeling as she closed her eyes and submerged her face in her water-filled hands. Blinking away the dripping water, Kenna opened her eyes to the iciest blue stare she had ever seen. Her heart rate ratcheted into high gear as the wolf in front of her lowered its shaggy gray head and growled.

  Holy crap. Kenna froze, her gaze locked with the wolf’s predatory stare. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Kenna swallowed hard. Didn’t wolves always hunt in packs? Without moving her head, she darted a quick glance along the embankment directly behind the animal. If this wolf had any friends, they must have decided to remain hidden. She’d decide later if that was good or bad.

  How the devil was she going to get herself out of this one? Kenna chewed on her chapped lips as she eased back on her heels. If she could get to the dagger that Ronan had returned to her, she might not be able to fend this creature off for long, but she could at least slow it down.

  Memories of nature documentaries streamed through her mind. Granny had always loved watching the shows, just to argue with their inaccuracies. There had been one about wolves. What had they said about them stalking their prey? Kenna chewed her lip until it bled while she inched her right hand down her leg and felt for the haft of her knife.

  The animal’s gaze followed Kenna’s hand. Ears perked forward, the wolf rumbled a louder warning and slid another pace closer. The great animal’s shoulders bunched beneath its thick pelt. Its muscular hindquarters tensed to lunge.

  Kenna held the predator’s stare with her own as she slid the dagger from its sheath. With movements so slow and painstaking it made her muscles ache, Kenna pulled the plaid wrapped about her waist loose and bunched it around her throat. She ducked her chin into the woolen folds and steadied her balanced crouch. She had to protect her throat and her belly when the wolf attacked and, hopefully, wound the beast with some well-placed slashes of her blade.

  Ronan’s deep voice rang out from behind her and echoed through the trees. “Stay yer ground, madadh allaidh. This woman is under my protection.” His words were followed with a low, clicking growl—a growl that sounded exactly like that of another wolf.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. There’s another wolf behind us, and it sounds like a big one. Kenna stole a glance back at Ronan. He stood a bit higher up on the bank—alone. She rolled the knife in her hand. Where the hell was the other wolf? It had sounded so close. She and Ronan needed to get their backs snug against the protection of the embankment fast, before the animals attacked.

  The great wild beast in front of her raised its head, bared its yellowed fangs, and snorted out a hissing response.

  Kenna slowly rose from her crouched position, knife held aloft and ready in case the wolf decided to spring. She edged her way backward, all the while watching the wolf as it inched closer. “I heard another one behind you. Do you see it?” She stole another glance back. Ronan’s relaxed stance and sense of calm seemed completely out of place. Was the man crazy? They were about to be eaten by wolves. “And I don’t think this one cares if you know me. I think food is the main thing on its mind.”

  Ronan stepped forward and pulled Kenna to stand behind him. “No. Ye happened too close to the pups she protects. She guards the orphaned young of others.”

  Kenna eased around, searching the woods behind them. “What about the other one?”

  “I am the only one here.”

  I’m not losing my mind. I know I heard another wolf. Kenna edged closer to Ronan as the wolf in front of them moved.

  The wolf’s ears perked forward, and she shifted her stance as though standing at attention. A low grumble clicked deep in her throat as she jerked her pointed muzzle first at Kenna and then back toward Ronan.

  “Aye.” Ronan nodded as he drew Kenna out from behind him and hugged her to his side. “She is my mate. She is not to be harmed.”

  Kenna glanced at the wolf, then swung her gaze up at Ronan. Was he actually communicating with it…uh…her? “You two understand each other?” Kenna noted that the wolf flicked one ear as though answering.

  A sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes pulled at the corners of Ronan’s mouth. He slowly lowered his chin in a single nod. “Aye. The great one and I know each other well. We share…” Ronan’s voice trailed off as though he’d lost his train of thought. He blinked hard and scrubbed the heel of one hand against his temple. “Ye might say we share a cursed history.”

  “A cursed history?” Kenna returned her dagger to its sheath. Somehow, it seemed rude to keep brandishing the weapon when the wolf merely seemed to be amicably standing its ground. For the first time, Kenna noticed the gaunt leanness of the creature’s body and her very noticeable ribs. “She’s starving, and it’s not even summer yet. How can she possibly take care of pups as thin as she is?”

  Ronan’s grasp tightened on Kenna’s elbow as he motioned with the other hand toward the hillside on the far side of the creek bed. His voice softened as he spoke to the wolf. “The lads have felled ye a fine stag, Máthair. The meat lies close to the place ye hide the wee ones. Go now. Sate yer hunger and the hunger of yer charges.”

  “Máthair”? Kenna knew that word. Gray used it whenever he handed Chloe to Trulie. Ronan had called the wolf “Mother”? The tingle of the unknown shivered across Kenna, pricking every hair on end. Was Ronan’s cursed history as odd and mystical as her own?

  The great gray beast seemed frozen in time, her icy stare locked on Ronan. Kenna held her breath, waiting for the wolf to move. The regal beast finally blinked, twitched an ear, then leapt to the far embankment in one fluid motion. Standing on the ledge of the washed-out stream, the gray wolf turned, stared back at Ronan, then yipped out a single deep bark.

  Ronan nodded. “Aye. Take them t’Draegonmare. The clan awaits yer return as eagerly as they wait for mine.”

  The mother wolf pointed her nose toward the cloudy sky and released a chilling howl before melting into the landscape.

  Kenna expelled the breath she’d unknowingly held as the wolf seemed to disappear like evaporating mist. “Who was that? What did you mean when you said you and that wolf share a cursed history?”

  “ ’Tis no’ the time for those explanations.” Ronan shook his head and gently pulled Kenna forward. “Yer Colum has fought free of the drugged whisky. Make haste. Come speak wi’ the man whilst ye have the chance.”

  While she had the chance? The unspoken meaning behind that ominous phrase shuddered through her. Kenna hitched up her damp skirts and churned through the slippery leaves to get back up the hill. Damn the cold. Damn the mud. Double damn this stupid dress. She could have run so much faster if she’d had on her favorite pair of jeans.

  Kenna floundered in the tangle of skirts and stumbled forward. Ronan yanked her up from the cold wet ground and steadied her to her feet. “Take care now. If ye break yer wee neck, ye’ll do the man no good at all.”

  Kenna fought against the urge to shout a rant of Granny’s favorite curse words and instead just hitched her skirts higher. The cold wind stung her thighs as she broke into a long-legged run. If
she had to run bare-assed to get to Colum in time, she’d do it.

  A roar of pain halted her just as she reached the back of the wagon. Colum’s fury seemed to shake the trees as he shouted, “What have ye done wi’ Kenna? I’ll kill every single one of ye bastards!” Four of Ronan’s men flanked Colum, trying to hold him down as he flailed between them.

  “Colum! Stop!” Kenna clambered up the iron framework and pitched herself into the bed of the wagon. “I’m right here. Colum, you have to lie still. You’re going to hurt yourself even more.”

  Colum’s head thrashed wildly from side to side, straining against those attempting to hold him still. His red-rimmed eyes bulged wide open and unblinking. “Free me!” he roared as he bucked against Ronan’s men.

  Kenna scrambled up to Colum, worming her way between the men as she planted her hands atop Colum’s chest. She nearly sobbed aloud at his fiery, mottled coloring. How had he gotten this way so fast? His hot, dry skin nearly seared her palms as she pushed him back down into the pillows. Fever. A terrifying, unholy fever had taken hold of his body.

  Kenna blinked hard against her fears, refusing to give way to more tears as she grabbed the skin of water from overhead, wet a rag, and smoothed it across his face. “You have to be still, my love. Please, you have to be still.”

  Colum stared up at her with unseeing eyes. His burning-hot breath burst free of his lungs in wheezing gasps. She had to get him cooler. He had to hang on. He had to be kept still.

  A glance at the rags wrapped around his leg confirmed Kenna’s greatest fear: It was too late. Fresh blood already seeped through the strips of cloth, soaking into the split lengths of wood holding the leg straight. “We’ve got to get him still. We’ve got to get him calmed down.”

  “Where is she? Where is Kenna? What have ye done wi’ m’woman?” Colum stared blindly up into Kenna’s face. His splotched skin deepened to an angrier red with every word he spoke.

  “I’m here.” Kenna drew closer, until the tip of her nose nearly touched his. “I am here, Colum. I’m right here with you.”

  “Ye must find her.” Colum shook his head free of her hands as though Kenna had never spoken. “Ye must find her and tell her I love her. Ye must make her know I love her more than life itself. Tell her I canna live without her. Tell her I’d rather die if she can ne’er be mine.” Colum grabbed hold of the front of Kenna’s dress and yanked her down closer. “Swear it t’me. Swear ye will make her believe m’love for her is truer than the North Star.”

  Kenna choked back another sob as tears finally broke free and blinded her. She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder to stanch their flow down her cheeks. “She knows you love her.” Kenna hiccuped through a sob as she lifted Colum’s head and leaned all her weight against him. She took the bottle of herb-laced whisky from Liam and held it to Colum’s mouth. “I swear to you, she knows how much you love her. Now drink. You must drink this if you ever hope to see her again.”

  Colum obediently gulped down several swallows, his eyes still wide and unseeing.

  Ian jumped into the wagon, a fresh length of rags in his hands. He looped them tightly around Colum’s leg and tightened them about the splints.

  Colum grimaced and thrashed against Ian’s ministrations, all the while spitting out a tirade of screamed Gaelic. He threw Kenna against the side of the wagon as he fought the men.

  Strong hands grasped Kenna underneath her arms and lifted her free of the wagon.

  “No. I have to stay with him. Put me down.” Kenna locked her heels against the wagon’s side and strained to reach Colum.

  Colum flailed toward Kenna as well, lunging at her with a raging growl. With wild, feverish eyes and tears streaming down his ghostly white face, he wrapped his fingers around her throat and squeezed. “Swear it! Swear ye will tell m’woman I love her and I wait for her beyond the gates of this hell. Swear it!”

  “I swear,” Kenna choked out right before everything went dark.

  Chapter 29

  Kenna eased another pillow under the sling holding Colum’s left arm. She smoothed the sweat- drenched hair away from his pale, clammy face and pulled the blanket higher on his chest. The fever had finally broken, and for the first time Colum slept without the aid of drugged whisky. But the fact that Colum was no longer putting up a fight made Kenna more worried than ever. He’d grown noticeably weaker each time the fever broke.

  Kenna scrubbed a hand across her gritty eyes and prayed the fever wouldn’t return. It had spiked to a terrifying inferno in ever-more-frequent cycles as the never-ending journey continued. They’d given him all the drug-laced alcohol they dared. If they gave him any more, his thrashing fevers wouldn’t kill him, the alcohol and herbs would.

  Worrisome patches of angry red flesh blotched with white striations covered Colum’s wounded side and shot across his swollen shoulder. The darker, bluer streaks concerned Kenna the most. The pressure of the ground against Colum’s lacerated flesh while he was buried was the only thing that had prevented him from bleeding out. But at what cost? Who knew what kind of bacteria had taken up residence in Colum’s wounds? They’d cleaned him up as best they could, but who knew if they’d done enough?

  Kenna flinched as the wagon lurched and bounced. She shifted her weight for the hundredth time in a futile attempt to find a position that would be a bit easier on her bruised and battered body. She rested a hand on Colum’s blanketed thigh and blinked against the threat of more tears. Her body had no pain compared with the ache in her heart. Colum’s declarations echoed through her mind like an accusing conscience. Kenna pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed the inner corners of her burning eyes. She couldn’t think about that now. All that mattered was getting Colum back to the keep. All that mattered was that he lived.

  Colum’s pale blond lashes seemed to glow against the bluish bruises under his eyes. The fevered sleep of the severely wounded did him little good. She couldn’t bear to think of the pain he was in, rattling around in the back of the damn wagon. Soon, they would stop and it would be time to change out all the bandages except for those immobilizing his leg. Kenna swallowed hard against the thought. Changing the dressings always caused him so much more pain.

  At Ronan’s assurance of his man’s abilities with wounds, Kenna had allowed Dougal to clean up Colum’s more serious wounds as best he could and seal them over with honey. Somewhere in her memories of a much happier time, Kenna recalled that Granny and Mairi had told her honey was one of nature’s finest antibiotics. Colum had enough stacked against him without adding infection to the list—at least not any more infection than he already had.

  Colum’s gray coloring disturbed her, and the motionless depth of his current state made Kenna wonder if they had already given him too much of the drugged alcohol. She pressed her fists against her eyes and racked her brain for every tidbit of medical information Trulie, Mairi, or Granny had ever spouted. Dammit to hell. Why didn’t I pay closer attention?

  The wagon lurched again and whacked her head against the backboard. Kenna flinched at the pain and massaged her fingers through her filthy tangled hair. Maybe that was fate’s way of telling her to snap out of it. Granny always said self-pity and the if only game were just a waste of life’s precious time.

  Kenna dampened a rag at the mouth of the water skin, replaced the stopper, and hung it back on the hook in the side of the wagon. She smoothed the cloth across Colum’s already burning-hot flesh. Her heart fell. The fever had returned quicker this time. Kenna glanced up at the cloud-filled sky. Usually, the fever spiked worse late in the day. It was just barely past noon. She ran the cloth over Colum’s mottled chest. How could the man nearly burn to the touch but still be blue-tinged as though he were freezing?

  Kenna spread the damp rag on the wagon’s side and stretched to see where they were. The wagon rocked from side to side, occasionally lurching hard in the direction of whichever wheel had managed to roll into a hole. Kenna held on to the side of the wagon and looked back at Colum. Even thoug
h he didn’t twitch from the rough ride, something told her he couldn’t take much more of this. They had to get to MacKenna keep soon.

  Kenna sank back down beside Colum. She didn’t recognize any of the trees or pillars of stones strategically placed along the roadway. But as tired as she was, she couldn’t guarantee she would recognize anything.

  Just as Kenna adjusted a pillow between her hip and the iron framing of the wagon, a familiar sound stayed her hand. Kenna held her breath, tilted her head, and strained to hear it again. A distant bark—deep and insistent—echoed through the cool Highland air like thunder. Kenna smiled and released the breath she’d been holding. That had to be Karma. That grumbling, loud rarr rarr rarr could only be Karma’s hunting bark. Trulie must have convinced the dog to leave his beloved Chloe long enough to help them find her.

  Kenna latched onto the side of the wagon and pulled herself to her knees. Sliding through the blankets and pillows, she worked around to the front of the wagon, grabbed hold of the seat brace, and stretched to see around Liam’s back.

  A black form that in the distance looked like an elongated dot rapidly grew larger as it moved toward them. Karma—great black beast that he was—loped toward them, his body stretched out to its fullest, most-ground-eating speed. Several yards behind the dog, a clumped group of riders galloped toward them, still so far away Kenna couldn’t make out their number. As the oncoming horsemen poured down the hillside, the riders seemed endless. Kenna’s heart swelled with excitement and gratitude as the wagon rolled to a stop. From the look of it, Gray had mobilized the entire clan to find her and Colum.

  The ground shook as the horses thundered closer. Karma’s barking call changed to a guttural warning growl. Ronan’s men urged their horses to either side of the wagon and behind it. Only one man remained in front: Ronan on his great black steed.