To Love A Highlander (Highland Warriors Book 1)

by Donna Fletcher

  The woman’s eyes suddenly bulged wide and she let out a gasp and stumbled back, swerving around. A knife handle protruded from her back, the blade having penetrated deep and she lunged for Adara.

  Espy surged forward, slamming into her and sending her tumbling to the ground, the dagger flying out of her hand. She crawled toward it, a pitiful sight, her fingers digging into the dirt as she fought with her last ounce of strength to reach the weapon. Death was quicker, claiming her as her fingers fell short of the dagger.

  Espy went to Adara, but she took hasty steps back, waving her away.

  “I just want to know you are all right,” Espy said, sad for the young woman that she could not bear to be touched.

  Adara nodded vigorously and pointed to Espy’s arm covered in blood.

  The ripped sleeve had soaked the blood and she did not want to chance pulling the torn pieces apart to see the wound. It was better if she left it for her grandmother to tend. How she would explain the wound to Craven was another matter and there was no time to think on it now. The body had to be disposed of and she had questions for Adara.

  “Do you know this woman?” Espy asked.

  Adara shook her head.

  “Would there be anyone after you besides Warrick’s warriors?” Since Adara talked little and trusted people even less, Espy knew little about her past. She had only known that she had been in Warrick’s dungeon being punished for theft.

  Adara shook her head again.

  Espy wished she could hug Adara and help ease her fright. Her petite body trembled and she hugged her middle tight, and her wide eyes seemed to spread wider as she stared at the dead woman.

  “I need to get rid of the body. The forest will consume it, but it must be a distance from here,” Espy explained.

  Adara nodded and patted her chest, letting Espy know she would help.

  Espy did not refuse her. With her arm injured and time passing much too quickly, she needed the help.

  It took some doing for her and Adara to drag the body through the woods and up a steep hill and once at the top, they pushed it off. They stood side by side as they watched it roll down and down and down, until the body was speared through the chest by a protruding branch.

  They stared for a moment, Espy hoping it was done, yet fearing trouble had only begun. They turned and took time to cover their tracks as they walked back to the cottage.

  “I have to go. I will be missed by now. I will come as soon as I can. If you need anything, go to Cyra, she will help you.”

  Adara nodded and waved her away.

  Espy hurried her steps, hoping and praying she could reach the cottage and tend her wound before Craven returned. A bandaged arm could be explained away more easily than a bloody one. The more she hurried, the more she feared she would not make it on time.

  Trumble.

  She would call out for Trumble as she kept walking. He would come for her. She let out several bursts of short, sharp whistles, took a breath, then repeated the whistles again. She continued with the whistles as she walked, sure that Trumble would hear her call.

  Chapter 27

  “What do you mean you do not know where Espy is?” Craven demanded of Cyra. He admired the old woman’s courage, keeping herself erect, her chin high, not cowering in front of him or showing fear even when he roared at her as he tried to stop himself from doing now. Especially since he saw fear spark in her eyes at the mention of her granddaughter’s name.

  “She went into the woods but where I do not know,” Cyra said, hugging her hands tightly. “She told me she would not be gone long, and I grow concerned for her safety.”

  “Why did she go into the woods?” Craven asked, fighting to contain the anger churning hot and thick inside him since he had returned and discovered his wife was nowhere to be found.

  Cyra decided that half the truth was better than nothing. “A woman, claiming to be ill, though far from it, appears to be stalking the area around my cottage. I believe Espy went to see if she could find the woman and discover her true intentions.”

  Espy would protect her grandmother without thought to her own safety. Yet Craven got the distinct feeling that Cyra was not telling him everything.

  Trumble suddenly snorted, stamped the ground, and went to take off when Craven grabbed his reins, stopping him. The horse fought to free himself and Craven knew why… Espy was in trouble.

  “Take me to her, Trumble,” Craven ordered firmly and the horse did not hesitate. He stilled, allowing Craven to mount him and as soon as he did, the animal took off, leaving Craven’s men struggling to keep up with him.

  Once in the woods, Craven heard short, sharp whistles echo off the trees. Fear gripped Craven’s heart. If Espy summoned Trumble, she must be hurt.

  “Hurry, Trumble,” he urged. He would not lose her. He could not lose her. She had somehow worked her way into his heart. It beat stronger because of her and he could not live without her. She was as vital to him as the air he breathed.

  He was never so relieved when he saw his wife come into view. Her steps quickened and her eyes widened when she caught sight of him, out of fear of being caught or relief, he could not say. Then he caught sight of her bloody sleeve. He did not have to urge Trumble forward, since as soon as the animal spotted her, he headed for her. He was off the horse in a flash when only a short distance from her.

  Espy was amazed at how fast her husband moved for a man his size. He seemed to fly off Trumble. She should be worried by the way his brow creased and his eyes narrowed and how quickly he descended on her, almost as if he was about to devour her and he did… with his arms.

  He held her against him gently, shutting his eyes and trying to still the rapid pounding of his heart as his hands squeezed at her shoulders, feeling her warmth through her blouse, confirming for himself that she was alive, and he had not lost her.

  After a few moments, he opened his eyes and cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her quick. “You have much to explain, wife, but at the moment all I care about is that you are alive and well.” His eyes darted to her bloody sleeve. “Tell me you are well.”

  That he sounded as if he pleaded with her and the stark anxiousness that glared in his dark eyes not to mention how he had flown off Trumble was evidence enough of his love.

  “Answer me, wife.” His strong voice boomed with a demand that was more tender than commanding.

  “I believe I am fine, but it would be good to have Cyra help me tend the wound.”

  “What happened?” Craven asked, lifting her gently in his arms and walking over to Trumble. “Did the woman who has been stalking Cyra’s place hurt you?” He looked around half expecting to see the deranged women run out of the woods before mounting.

  “Can we speak of this later, after my wound is tended?” She placed her head on his shoulder. “I am a bit exhausted from the ordeal.”

  “Rest,” he ordered. “We will talk later.”

  Espy’s excuse did not make her feel less guilty even if it was the truth. She would have to tell him about the woman since she felt that Ober somehow was connected with her. It did not seem logical that two people would seek out healers in the same area with the same tale of an illness that did not exist and with the same curiosity of the surrounding area.

  They arrived at Cyra’s cottage in no time and as Craven carefully lifted Espy off the horse, he asked, “Where last did you see this woman who wounded you?”

  Espy did not hesitate to tell her husband since the body was a safe distance from Adara. “She is dead, impaled on a branch after falling down a hill.” She did not mention the stab wound, the impaling, no doubt, eradicating all signs of it. She was not surprised when he asked for specifics of the area or when he sent some of his warriors to go locate it.

  “Good Lord, you are hurt,” Cyra cried out, stepping out of the cottage and seeing Espy’s bloody sleeve.

  Espy was quick to reassure her grandmother. “A minor wound.”

  “That is quite a bit of b

lood for a minor wound,” Innis said with as much concern in his voice as she saw in her grandmother’s eyes.

  Cyra hurried to her granddaughter, slipping her arm around her. “We need to see to your wound right away.”

  “Espy appears to have gotten into quite a serious altercation,” Innis said as Craven stepped forward to follow the women into the cottage.

  Craven stopped before entering. “What did Cyra tell Espy about this woman?”

  “I do not know,” Innis said with a shake of his head. “I was not privy to the conversation, but I do want to be privy in helping Cyra tend Espy’s wound.”

  “I would be grateful for any help you can give in tending my wife,” Craven said and extended his arm for the physician to enter the cottage before him.

  Craven stood in front of the open door, looking at his wife as her grandmother took a blade to her bloody sleeve.

  “You block the light, Lord Craven,” Cyra said, without glancing up at him.

  Craven ducked his head to enter the cottage and kept his eyes on his wife. It was a small space and with four people filling it, he worried Espy would grow agitated and find it much too confining. She seemed not to notice, too busy talking with her grandmother and Innis about tending the wound. Until they both stepped closer to Espy, confining her.

  Her body tensed, her breathing grew faster and as he stepped forward, she turned, her arm shooting up and her hand stretching out in a desperate attempt to grab hold of him.

  His hand reached hers, taking tight hold, locking his fingers around hers as his other arm circled her waist. “I am here with you. You are safe. There is nothing to fear.”

  Cyra and Innis stepped back away from the couple, both seeing the fear in Espy’s eyes and how she frantically had turned to her husband for help.

  Craven brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I will let nothing happen to you… ever.” He was relieved when Espy shook her head at him. It meant she was calming, her fear fading, enough to disagree with him, though her breathing had yet to fully ease. He rubbed her back gently, chasing the tenseness from her body. “You do not believe me,” he asked, a faint smile surfacing.

  Espy shook her head, then switched it to a nod, then dropped her brow to rest on his chest.

  He kept slow and steady strokes along her back as he whispered, “I would see my life gone before I would let anyone take yours.”

  Espy raised her head. Was he telling her in his own way that he loved her, for he would not give his life so easily for her if he did not love her. Would he? The thought that he would die for her disturbed her. “You will never do that,” she scolded and with her breath still slightly labored, she continued, “and you will not always be able to prevent things from happening to me.”

  When she paused for a breath, Craven quickly took charge of their debate. “I can and I will as long as my wife does not go running off without a word to her husband.” He kissed her brow gently. “You are not alone anymore. You have me. You will always have me. I will always be there to help you, protect you, no matter the situation.”

  He loved her.

  The thought spun in her head. He truly loved her, his caring words confirmed it and her love for him spilled freely from her lips, “I love you, my husband.”

  Her words hit him like a sharp arrow to his heart, though it was not pain he felt. It was pure joy and contentment that he had never thought he would know again. This woman, this healer, had somehow managed to work her magic and heal his heart, a heart he had thought died with Aubrey.

  He loved Espy.

  The thought jolted him, the words almost spilling from his lips, but he caught them. He would tell her, but not here, not now.

  Craven pressed his cheek to hers and a shout from outside broke them apart and a rap at the door had Craven remaining at her side as he bid the person to enter.

  “An accident, my lord, while retrieving the body of the woman. Morta needs a healer,” Tass said.

  Espy went to stand up and Craven laid a firm hand to her shoulder. “You will stay here and have your grandmother tend you.” He looked to Innis. “Innis will see to Morta.”

  “I would be honored to tend your warrior, my lord,” Innis said.

  “I have whatever you need,” Cyra offered, “and offer any help you need. Remember, things are different in the Highlands.”

  “I will seek your counsel with appreciation if necessary,” Innis said with a smile and followed Tass.

  Craven did not like leaving his wife and he let her know it. “I regret having to take my leave, but I must see to what happened and—”

  “Go, “Espy urged, “my grandmother will take good care of me.”

  “I know or I would not be leaving your side,” he said and turned to Cyra. “I am glad it is you whose hands I leave her in.”

  “Espy will be fine, worry not,” Cyra assured him.

  Espy sighed after her husband shut the door behind him and pressed her fingers to her lips he had kissed before taking his leave. She missed him already.

  “I am pleased to see that he loves you as much as you love him.”

  Espy turned a huge smile on her grandmother. “He does love me. He tells me in his own way.”

  “Any fool can see or hear how much he loves you,” Cyra confirmed with a broad smile of her own, thrilled that fate had finally smiled kindly on her granddaughter.

  “I am so happy, Seanmhair. I never thought I would be happy again and would have never believed it would be Craven who brought me so much happiness.”

  “You have suffered enough. It is time you have some joy and peace in your life,” Cyra said as she began to tend Espy’s wound.

  Espy’s smile faltered.

  “The woman in the woods,” Cyra said, knowing her granddaughter well enough to know what troubled her. “Craven told you he would help you no matter what.”

  “I gave my word I would not betray her, too many already have and it has left her scarred and broken.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. It takes time and true kindness and love to help heal as you and Craven have done. It seems this woman who remains hidden needs more help then you alone can give her. Think on it, Espy. You will not tell me about her for what I might suffer and look what you have suffered,” she said with a nod to the slash on her granddaughter’s forearm. “I assume you kept her safe this time, at your own peril, but what about next time. Someone is searching for her and they will not stop until they find her. You are putting yourself in danger along with her. She needs more help than you can give her and she will never heal if she continues to hide. You are a healer. Do what is best to help heal her.”

  “I hope I am as wise as you one day,” Espy said.

  “Wisdom grows along with age. When we are young we feel we can conquer anything. As we age we realize it is the journey, with all its victories and defeats, sorrows and joys, that matter the most. Help your friend to live just as you have helped Craven.”

  The door opened just as Cyra finished tying a cloth around Espy’s arm.

  “She is well?” Craven asked of Cyra as he walked to his wife’s side.

  “She is and she knows how to tend the wound herself and she has Innis to tend it as well,” Cyra said.

  “But there is nothing that heals as well as her grandmother’s hands and heart,” Innis said entering the cottage with a smile. “That is what she used to tell me, and I see that she is right.”

  Cyra smiled at his compliment. “How is Morta?”

  “A gash to the leg that he insists he can tend himself with the help of some water of life. I have come to see if you have some of that.”

  “I do,” Cyra said and grabbed a jug from beneath the bench. “Come, I will show you how to use it and enjoy it.”

  When it came time to leave, Espy could not keep a tear from filling her eye as she hugged her grandmother. She had tended more than Espy’s arm today. She had tended her heart and taught her more about being a healer. She was a bit worried about leaving her on her own.

  “I will see you soon,” Cyra said as Craven placed Espy on Trumble.

  “I am leaving a warrior here with you, Cyra,” Craven said, after mounting his mare. Her perplexed look had him explaining. “Between Warrick’s men camping on MacCara land and this deranged woman attacking Espy, I will take no chances with your safety.”

  Espy wanted to reach out and hug her husband. When her grandmother thanked him instead of protesting, Espy was aware that she was reminding her that the danger had not passed and she would be wise to heed her warning.

  They traveled a while in silence before Craven asked, “Do you trust me, Espy?”

  “Aye, without question,” she was quick to answer.

  “Then tell me what happened in the woods.” When she hesitated, he reminded her, “Whatever it is I will help you.”

  A shout from one of his warriors prevented Espy from responding.

  Craven turned to see Roark and one of his warriors riding directly at them. He brought his warriors to a stop and directed his horse in front of Trumble.

  Roark rode straight to Craven and extended no greeting. “I have need of a healer. One of my man has taken ill.”

  Craven called out, “Innis.”

  The physician rode up beside him.

  Craven looked to Roark. “This is Innis, a physician from Edinburgh. He will see to your ill warrior.”

  Roark shook his head. “I want a Highland healer.”

  “Cyra will help him,” Espy said.

  “Your grandmother,” Roark said, “but is she as good a healer as you?”

  “Better than me,” Espy said, a twinge of fear racing through her that he should know Cyra was her grandmother. She had shared no knowledge of herself with anyone but Adara, but then Craven had reminded him that Warrick knew everything.

  “I will take you to Cyra and join her in seeing what ails your warrior,” Craven said.

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