Highland Lover

by Hannah Howell

  When Gregor started to dress, Alana slowly came to her senses. She pushed aside the regret she felt over seeing all that manly beauty covered up as she began to recall just why she had burst in upon him. Her trip to the kitchen had gained her far more than the food she carried.

  “We must leave here,” she said even as she moved to shove the clothes she had shed before her bath into her pack. “Now.”

  “Why?” Gregor dressed more quickly as he caught her mood of anxiety and her need for action.

  “Master Dunn is selling us to the Gowans.”

  “The Gowans are here?”

  “Nay, not yet, but Dunn is having them fetched. He heard they were looking for a mon and a wee lass.” She scowled as she recalled some of the man’s words. “I heard him talking to one of his workers, sending him off to find the Gowans. Dunn is certain ye are the mon the Gowans are hunting for, but he said the lass with ye is no child. Then he said he could understand the Gowans’ mistake, for I am as small as a child and nay more shapely than a knotted thread.”

  “He is clearly as blind as he accuses the Gowans of being.”

  Alana blushed with pleasure although she knew his words were probably no more than a well-practiced bit of flattery spit out to soothe her badly bruised vanity. “Mistress Dunn was outraged when she heard what her mon was doing, although nay really for our sakes. She grumbled about how it would ruin their business if word spread that Dunn was willing to sell anyone out to their enemies. That truly distressed her so that she gave me this sack of food, free, saying we wouldnae have time to get back the fee we paid for this room and the meal we willnae be eating. Then she told me to flee this place.”

  “And that we will. I am sorely tempted to steal a horse from Dunn’s stables for this.”

  “I think he fears that someone might, for he has set those two braw laddies of his to watching the stable.”

  Gregor cursed. “Get the cat. I pray we can slip away from here without being seen.” He quickly shoved his belongings back inside his pack as Alana settled Charlemagne in his sling. “’Twill be a bed under the stars again, lass.”

  As swiftly as possible, Gregor divided the food between their packs. Thinking of the meal and the bed he had paid for but would not receive, Gregor took the blanket from the bed as well. He prayed the Gowans were not too close at hand, for he and Alana were losing a lot of time just preparing to leave. Grabbing Alana by the hand, he led her out of their room and down the back stairs he had discovered while waiting for her to finish her bath. As he led her on a crooked route, weaving in and around the buildings of the village, Gregor kept a close watch for the Gowans. It did not really surprise him when the Gowans arrived before he could get Alana out of the village. His luck had been very poor of late.

  Keeping an eye on the Gowans, who were wandering about the village near the inn, Gregor finally reached the far end of the village. The open space they now had to cross to reach the wooded hills where they could hide was not so very wide, but he knew it was wide enough to be a danger to them. It would only take one fleeting glance by a Gowan to espy him and Alana, for they would be fully exposed until they reached the trees. Since there was no other choice, Gregor exchanged a hard look of determination with Alana and then headed for the trees as fast as he could run. He was not really surprised to hear her keeping pace at his side, for he had already observed her skill in running, even while wrapping one arm around the cat’s sling to hold it steady. Later he would smile over how the cat had its head jutted forward, its ears flattened against its head, and looked as determined as he and Alana did.

  The moment they were within the shelter of the trees and the shadows they cast, Gregor paused to look back toward the village. He felt a brief surge of satisfaction when he saw no Gowans in pursuit, only to feel it washed away by a soft gasp of alarm from Alana. Gregor drew his sword as he turned around. The Gowans had obviously grasped enough wit to place a man in the woods to watch for them. That man held a sword on Alana. Gregor briefly tasted a fury so hot he ached to immediately cut the man down.

  “Let us pass,” Gregor said. “We are no threat to ye.”

  “My laird wants ye caught,” the man said. “He needs the coin your ransoms can bring us and he cannae let ye escape without trying to catch ye again, can he? It wouldnae look good.”

  “Shall I step back and allow ye more room to cut this lack-wit into wee pieces?” Alana asked Gregor.

  “If ye would be so kind, m’dear,” Gregor murmured.

  “My pleasure. Have at it, then.”

  It amazed Gregor that he had to swallow the urge to laugh. Have at it? Now that his fury over seeing someone threatening Alana had cooled a little, Gregor knew he did not want to kill this man. The fool was simply obeying his laird and would be wanting to capture him and Alana alive. Unfortunately, once the clang of swords filled the air, a man could easily forget such fine distinctions.

  “’Twould be best if ye let us pass,” Gregor told the man even as he and the man began to warily circle each other, each waiting for the other to start the battle that now seemed inevitable.

  “Best for who? Ye and the wee lass? It certainly wouldnae be best for me.” The man cast a fleeting glance toward Alana. “And when did the wee bairn grow breasts, eh? True, they are as wee as she is, but I am thinking she was alying to us, aye? She be no child. Och, weel, ’tis said that sometimes the smallest fruit be the sweetest. Tiny wee bumps that they are, I bet ye find them so. Mayhap I will as weel. No need for the poor wee lass to be cast back into the pit. Nay, she can stay aboveground and warm my bed. She may have nay more shape than a knotted thread, as the fine Master Dunn says, but she will do me for a wee while.”

  Gregor sighed and shook his head. “And here I was deciding that I wouldnae kill ye after all. Weel, now I willnae disappoint ye after ye have worked so hard to kill all the mercy in my heart.”

  After chancing a brief glance at Alana, Gregor dared not look her way again, and not just because it could cost him dearly in the fight he was soon to be in the midst of. Her gasp had caused him to fear that some other Gowan had arrived, but her expression as she glared at the man facing him told Gregor it had been outrage that had caused the sound. She looked prepared to argue with the Gowan man over his disparaging remarks concerning her size.

  The man’s sudden attack pushed all thought but survival from Gregor’s mind. Although he quickly tested the man’s skill and felt confident he could beat him, Gregor did not hold back or ease his vigilance. Even the most inept of swordsmen could get lucky, and this man was not completely inept. Just as that thought passed through his mind, fate decided he had become too vain and that he needed to be taught some humility. Gregor stumbled over a rock and heartily cursed when his opponent’s sword scored his right side. He quickly recovered and knew the wound was not a serious one, but he also knew that a loss of blood could weaken him in time.

  Alana cursed, fear a sour taste in her mouth as the Gowan man’s sword slashed across Gregor’s right side. She suspected it was not a deep or serious wound, for Gregor barely faltered, but the widening dark stain upon Gregor’s doublet told her that it was bleeding freely, and that could prove dangerous. Both men were fighting hard and seriously and she doubted the Gowan man was about to suddenly recall that Gregor was to be taken for ransom, not killed.

  It was a strange time for her to realize that her feelings for Gregor far surpassed a mere infatuation with his pretty face or a lusting for his fine, strong body, she mused as she searched for a weapon. Espying a thick branch upon the ground, she picked it up and began to creep toward the Gowan man. Both men were so intent upon each other they never even glanced her way. She would not be surprised to discover that they had both completely forgotten about her. This ought to remind them, she thought, and the moment she saw her chance, she clubbed the Gowan man on the back of the head as hard as she could. He stood very still for a moment and then slowly collapsed facedown on the ground.

  Breathing heavily, Gregor
stared down at his unconscious opponent and then looked at Alana. “I am nay sure that was a particularly honorable way to end the fight, lass,” he said calmly.

  “I dinnae care,” she said as she tossed her rough club aside. “Gregor,” she murmured in a concerned voice as she started toward him, “ye are bleeding.”

  “Aye, but ’tis only a scratch.” He sheathed his sword.

  “At least allow me to bind it.” She hastily pulled one of the bindings she had once used upon her breasts out of her pack and wrapped it around him. “It really needs to be cleaned and looked at most closely—”

  “I ken it, but, later, lass.” Gregor knelt to relieve the Gowan man of his small purse, stuffed it into his pack, and looked toward the village. “For now ’tis far more important to get as far away from here as we can.”

  Alana knew he was right and tried not to worry about him as they hurried away. In her experience men could be very foolish about their wounds, ignoring them far beyond what was wise or safe. She knew they could not linger so close to the Gowans, but she was determined not to let Gregor push onward for so long that a minor wound became a dangerous one. A loud cry from behind them told her it might prove difficult to keep that promise to herself. It appeared that the Gowans had finally turned their attention to the woods.

  Chapter 9

  Gregor slumped against a tree and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body was screaming in protest of how hard he had pushed them and he knew it would take a while before that faded. He heard a soft thump by his feet and looked down only long enough to make sure that Alana was still conscious. She had gracefully sprawled on her back on the grass by his feet, Charlemagne still cradled gently in her arms. Slowly, Gregor sank down until he sat beside her, his back still against the tree. He hoped he was right in thinking they had lost the Gowans, for he doubted he had the strength to even crawl away from them now.

  “Have we lost them?” Alana asked when she had finally caught her breath.

  “Aye, I think so. ’Struth, I think we lost them just before the sun set.”

  “That was o’er an hour ago.”

  “I wanted to be sure.”

  “And ye are sure now, are ye?”

  “Aye, I am,” he replied after a moment’s thought. “I doubt they will continue to search now that it is dark, either. So, we can rest for a while.”

  “Oh, good. Dinnae think I could move right now anyway, not e’en if the fools threatened to ride right o’er me.” She slowly sat up. “Howbeit, I should tend to that wound.”

  “Truly, ’tis but a scratch, lass. My doublet took the worst of the blow.”

  “E’en the smallest of scratches can prove a danger if it isnae tended to.”

  There was no arguing that. Gregor remained where he was, watching as Alana collected a few strips of linen, water, and a small pot of something from her pack. He was pleased to see no needle and thread. As she returned to his side, he removed the rough bandage she had wrapped around him and then took off his doublet. Each movement caused him to wince with pain and he meekly accepted her aid in removing his shirt.

  Alana quickly retrieved a candle stub and flint from her pack. She lit the candle and carefully studied the wound. “I dinnae think it needs stitching,” she said.

  “Thank God,” Gregor muttered.

  She ignored that. “E’en with all the running ye did, the bleeding has nearly stopped. I will clean it, put some of this salve on it, and bandage it. That should be enough. It would be best if ye can rest for a day or so, so that the wound can begin to close. Do ye think that is possible?”

  “It may be.” Gregor hissed a curse between tightly clenched teeth as she bathed his wound. Her touch was gentle, but he doubted that eased his pain by very much. “I will ken better in the morning.”

  “I pray we have thoroughly lost the Gowans, left them wandering in circles e’en now.” She put salve on his wound as gently as she could, but still heard him grunt softly in pain. “E’en if ye werenae wounded, I would like a wee respite before beginning our journey again. I ken I will be aching in the morning.”

  “As will I, I suspect, and nay just from this wound.”

  “Hold this here for a moment,” she ordered, placing his hand against the linen pad she had put over his wound. “I will make up our poor bed and ye had best lie down,” she said as she wrapped the long strips of her linen bindings around him to hold the pad of linen in place over his wound. “This injury will be pulled and pained each time ye move, I fear. ’Tis in such a place that it willnae be ignored. It will close faster if ye can bring yourself to lie flat and still for a day or two.”

  “It didnae seem that deep,” he murmured.

  “It isnae, but it still bleeds, aye? If ye pamper it for a wee bit now and we continue our journey at an easy pace for a few days, after that it should heal weel. I doubt I need to tell ye that e’en a slow loss of blood, if continuous, can fell a mon and tempt a fever.”

  “Aye, I ken it, but ye will need help to set up our camp.”

  “Nay, I can do it.” She smiled faintly at his look of doubt. “Trust me.”

  He nodded slowly. He might trust her to do it, but that did not mean he had to like it. Unfortunately, his side burned and he felt somewhat light-headed. Gregor knew he would be more hindrance than help right now. Slumped against the tree, he watched as she skillfully built a small fire and then brought him some bread, cheese, and cold venison to eat. As he ate, she made up a bed for them near the fire. Someone had obviously taken the time to teach her a few skills so that she could survive on her own. Gregor supposed that was a good thing, but it made him uncomfortable, for he had to wonder why she needed him at all.

  She needed him to protect her, he told himself, and then grimaced as his cruel memory reminded him of why she was the one setting up their camp now. In his first battle for her sake, he had stumbled like some untried oaf and gotten himself wounded. She had ended the fight and downed their foe. It was a sad blow to a man’s pride. While it was true that she had needed him to escape the oubliette and while she was feverish, it was also true that anyone could have done the same. Gregor did not know exactly why he so wished her to see him as necessary to her, but he did. There was one way left to him in which he could bind her to his side, but she was proving resilient to his seduction. He really did not wish to discover that he was not as good at wooing a lass as he had thought.

  When she helped him to his feet, she put her arm around him and pressed close to his side. That cheered Gregor up, and he began to think of ways to take advantage of her closeness. It only took a few steps for him to realize he would not be taking advantage of her gentle solicitude this night. What had started as a nice embrace became a necessary support to keep him on his feet. He had clearly lost a lot more blood than he had realized.

  Alana frowned at him as, once he was settled on their bed, she covered him with a blanket. “Ye are looking verra pale, Gregor.”

  “’Twill pass,” he said. “I was just thinking that my wound must have bled more freely than I thought.”

  “The small wounds can fool ye that way. Many people think that because the blood isnae flowing freely, the wound isnae so verra dangerous, but ye can still lose too much blood if ’tis a slow, steady loss. My cousin Syme near died of a wound upon his ankle. He was out hunting and got stabbed in the ankle by something, but he just cursed the brief pain and kept on hunting. When he finally collapsed his boot was fair soaked with blood and he had left a trail of it behind him. ’Tis fortunate that my other cousins, Uilleam and Kelvin, were hunting with him. They got him to Grandmere verra quickly, but ’twas a near thing.”

  “A wound in his ankle?”

  “Aye. Something poked a hole in just the right place. Grandmere says there must be one of those bleeder veins down there. I kenned about the ones in the throat and in the wrist and thigh, but I was verra surprised to discover there was one in the ankle.”

  Gregor watched her as she removed her boots and used
a little water from their supplies to wash her face and hands. Fiona had said that most Murray lasses trained with Lady Maldie to become healers. It was clear that, although she claimed her sister was the true healer, Alana was not without skill and knowledge. He almost grinned. If he kept her, Alana would join with his father’s wife Mab and Fiona, giving Scarglas three skilled healers. They would be the healthiest clan outside of the Murrays themselves.

  “Nay,” he said when she started to get beneath the blankets on his right side. “The other side would be better.”

  “Wheesht, of course.” She quickly got into the rough bed on his left side and tried to settle herself comfortably on the hard ground with her back toward him. “I could hurt your wound.”

  “Aye, I suppose ye could, but I was thinking on how I wouldnae be able to do this.”

  She smiled faintly when he curled his arm around her waist and tugged her up close to him. Her smile widened slightly when she felt him harden against her backside. No matter how vigorously she scolded herself or tried to tell herself that it was just a man’s blind lust for anything female, she found that sign of Gregor’s desire flattering and very exciting.

  It was far past time to decide what she was going to do about him. She had had a sharp reminder today that no matter how handsome he was, how big and strong and skilled with a sword, he was just a man. He could bleed and he could die. All her lessons in healing had told her that it was just a surface wound, but knowledge and good sense had done little to ease the cold fear she had felt when that sword had cut him. Alana knew she was in love with Gregor. She needed to decide just how far she was willing to go to try to gain a return of her love.

  First, she would stop fighting against his seduction. Alana suspected some of that decision was aided by the sight of Gregor naked that was now emblazoned upon her mind. Despite his rather imposing size, just thinking about Gregor naked made her feel uncomfortably warm. Her palms itched to touch all that dark, smooth skin stretched over taut, fit muscle. One look at his body in all its natural glory was enough to make her feel the greatest of wantons. Alana could not even imagine how wonderful it would feel to hold him close, skin to skin, and be free to run her hands all over him.