My Lady Highlande

by Nancy Lee Badger

  Izzy? No!

  “Leave him be, ye ornery, loud-mouthed, son of a defiler. He saved yer brother’s life, and this is how ye repay the man?” Izzy said, and walked slowly toward Niall.

  Bull stared, shocked and worried that she’d left her perfectly good hiding place for him. With a smile on her heart-shaped face, her beauty was like the sun after a storm. Moonlight sparkled in her stormy eyes. Groaning, as she raised the sword he’d hidden with her, and rested the tip on the curve of Niall’s left pectoral muscle, Bull wanted to laugh.

  Or, cry.

  “She’s too close to him,” Bull muttered.

  Her womanly fragrance of flowers, pine and moss, eased his body and calmed his stomach. Struggling to stand, he wished he could take her place. It should be him, who held a sword to Niall’s chest.

  Her eyes flitted sideways, watching Bull rise and lean against the tree, then she turned back to Niall. He could grab the sword out of her hand, any second.

  “Izzy, love. Why didn’t you stay hidden?” Sucking in more air, Bull’s voice croaked.

  “The wildcat has risen from her den. What’s this ye say? Who be defiling who?”

  “Ask yer father, if he still lives. Never ye mind all that. How dare ye hurt Bull after all he has done?”

  Niall glared at Bull. “Ye save my brother, but ye hide his betrothed?”

  “I will never marry Gavin Sinclair!” Izzy stomped her foot, and the huge sword dropped to her side. Pain radiated across her features, as she dropped it in the dirt.

  He’d forgotten how heavy the weapon was, but she had brandished it like a true Highlander. Her statement stopped any further argument. Niall nodded, and Bull couldn’t help the smile that curved his mouth. She wasn’t going to marry Gavin. She was his.

  Izzy is mine?

  He doubted she would return to the future with him, even if he found a way to go back. She should live here, with people of her time. If Gavin wanted her farmland, then it must be valuable. He’d help Izzy locate her missing cousin, make sure she was safe from the Sinclair marauders, and suggest she live out her years among her own kind; among Highlanders.

  Not me.

  He’d return to the safety of his time, go back to teaching wealthy folks’ privileged offspring, and turn the caber at the New England Highland Games. A simple plan.

  “Bull, let us continue our journey.” Izzy was already moving through the woods.

  “Go with my blessing, little wildcat, since yer still on Sinclair land,” Niall called after her.

  As Bull marched in her wake, he grabbed the dropped sword, and saluted Niall. The Highlander crossed his arms and glared. Was he considering Izzy’s words? If he believed her, they might survive the day.

  It was so dark that Izzy disappeared, so Bull picked up the pace. When someone made her angry, she was magnificent. Her eyes sparkled, her back straightened, and the words flowed from kissable lips.

  Yep, I love them lips!

  Whoa! Love was too strong a word. He’d have to remember that, the moment he came upon her, in the shadows. Other thoughts intruded. She had stopped to wait for him, and he noticed the torn hem of her skirt. She hadn’t hesitated to ruin her clothes, in order to soothe his wounds.

  “Niall doesn’t know where Gavin is,” he said.

  “ ‘Tis good news. Gavin was not among the dead in the glade,” she whispered.

  He exhaled, fearing nothing was certain. “Let’s hope that means Jenny is alive.”

  “I have a feeling Gavin would never leave my dear friend unprotected.”

  Kind of how I feel about you, he thought.

  ***

  Izzy slapped a hand to her stomach, grateful she had not retched. Watching Niall confront, then pummel Bull, had filled her with unbridled rage. Bull was from another time, unused to battles and deadly confrontations. He handled The Sinclair laird well-enough, for which she had thanked him with her mouth and body.

  A shiver spread from her womb to her toes. He said he made love with her, and her heart agreed. What they shared was more than rutting like animals. He tasted good, smelled divine, and filled her body, in a way she was beginning to crave. Riding him was an erotic treat, and he had treated her with care and respect. More importantly, he had allowed her the choice to continue, or not.

  Recalling their lovemaking, her breathing grew shallow, and she got a little dizzy. Slowing her steps through the dark forest, she gulped air, listening for Bull, who was lagging behind. Twigs cracked as she kept heading in the direction of her farm. Twinges ran up her ankles each time her bare feet stepped on a rock.

  A garron would make the remainder of their journey more pleasant. She should have demanded Niall give his brother’s savior a mount. When they reached the meadow, and after they arrived at her farm, their search for her cousin could require traveling at great lengths. She could not rest, until Rae was safe.

  She hoped the cottage proved a safe haven. If someone had taken her cousin by force, others might have overrun her home and her lands. If they met hostile usurpers, how could they fight? With one sword in the hands of a man untrained in its use, and her without any weapon, a frontal confrontation could mean their doom.

  “We must be devious,” she said.

  “Sneaky, you mean?” Bull said, behind her.

  She turned to face him. His presence relaxed her, even as her heart filled with wanting another taste of him. Excited at his closeness, the urge to kiss him senseless was hard to control.

  Handsome, and huge, were only two parts of the attraction. He was a true Highlander, no matter how much he snarled every time someone called him one. He was her hero, her lover, and a panacea to all her worries.

  His ability to make her feel safe was a joyful happenstance. She ought to reward him in some way. Should she help him make his way home? In order to accomplish a feat of time travel, she needed a powerful witch, or the brownie.

  “Where is Jaden-Tog?”

  “That little trickster?” Bull asked. His brow arched as he turned to look behind them. “I lost sight of him once we were attacked at camp. He scurried up a tree.”

  “Pray he finds his way to us.”

  “Why the heck would I do that? I don’t trust him.”

  “Unless we find a witch, he is yer only hope to return to your time.”

  “Sonofa…If I had known, I would have tied him to that tree. I hate brownies, but I hate witches even more.” Bull stubbed his boot into the dead leaves that lined the path. The odor of death, on top of their confrontation with Niall Sinclair, made her ill.

  It must have shown on her face, because Bull was suddenly hugging her. He kissed her, as if his life depended on it. She breathed in his breath and tasted him. His tongue was everywhere, and as seductive as his hands. Fingers caressed her hair, her neck, and teased her nipples. When her common sense returned, she stepped away.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  Using the scrap of linen she had used to bath her face, she tied her loose hair, but could not answer. Was it so wrong to take pleasure when it was handed to her? Smoothing the front of her skirt, she looked up. His eyes were so pretty. His jaw was strong and square, and his black hair reminded her of the raven, flying free and high.

  “Live for today, and let tomorrow worry about itself. ‘Tis words we have heard before, and we must understand their significance.”

  “They are words to live by.”

  “ ‘Tis words to die by.” He did not understand how precarious their situation could get. She assumed Dorcas Swann was either at home in Keldurunach with Kirkwall Gunn and his family, or visiting the Keith stronghold on the coast of the North Sea, in Wick. Either way, she was a day’s ride away. “If we only had a horse.”

  “Don’t sound so defeated. Yeah, it would be great if we had a horse, but you have me!”

  With her heart flipping over inside her chest, she sighed.

  “Maybe we should go out with a bang.” Bull pulled her into an embrace, and she allowed him to
smother her with the warmth of his body, but his statement made no sense. “Nay, we must tread silently.”

  The rumble in his chest surprised her.

  “Are ye laughing at me?”

  “Yes, but I’ll explain, once we’re safe. I’d love to shove you against the nearest tree, raise your skirt, and make you scream.”

  “Nay! ‘Tis what The Sinclair tried, and I …”

  He groaned. “Sorry. I only saw him with his hands on you, while you were on the ground.”

  “We must keep quiet…” He released her, and she missed him immediately. Thinking of the Sinclair laird, fear overruled erotic images of Bull, making love to her. If she did not distance herself from him, she would never find the strength to reach her cottage.

  Her stomach rumbled.

  “Hungry? Me too. Any idea where we can find something to eat?” He walked ahead of her, traveling in the correct direction. She listened for followers.

  “Fruit trees and root vegetables should be available once we cross the meadow. Can ye hold on ‘til then?”

  “I can if you can. I’d love a bath and some clean clothes, too. It’s getting chilly.”

  “At least ye have boots. I lost my shoes, if ye recall. The sun will be up soon. The forest marks the boundary between the Sinclair land and my farm.”

  “Are we close to the border?”

  “Aye. The darkness will aid us in crossing the meadow unseen. If we be lucky, my former ale master has put up barrels of honey ale.”

  “Let’s hurry!”

  She laughed at his exuberance, slapping a hand over her mouth. Stealth would keep them alive.

  When they reached the edge of the meadow, they crouched behind low branches. If the moon, hidden somewhere behind heavy clouds, reappeared before they traveled the distance across the meadow, they would be as visible as the Highland cows, mooing, to their left.

  “What’s that sound? A cow?”

  “Aye. Highland cattle, so stay to the right and watch yer step.”

  “Great. I’ll probably trip, and land face-first in a pile of cow droppings.”

  She chuckled.

  “That was funny?”

  “Nay. I was thinking…” She fingered the potions in her pocket. “I carry a potion bottle filled with what we call cow-cakes.”

  “Why the heck did you bring that along?”

  “That title be misleading. ‘Tis actually an infusion of giant hogweed, a potion that can burn the skin. ‘Twas the only weapon I could grab when we…were interrupted.”

  “Don’t know where you’d use that.”

  She shrugged. “Mind yer steps. If ye do step wrong, I shall do my best to get ye a bath.”

  Bull nuzzled her neck, then pressed a gentle kiss on her ear. “Thanks. Shall we go?”

  She could not move. His body was so warm and comforting, and his scent lingered even when he stood and walked away.

  Izzy pressed a finger against her damp ear, and a smile tugged at her mouth. The man was huge, muscular, and carried a sword, yet he had kissed her as gently as her mother had, when she laid her down to sleep.

  She did not want to think of her deceased parents.

  They headed across the meadow, toward the cottage she and her family had called home. Even the Highland cows belonged to her, unless someone had taken over her property. They would deal with that issue once they made it safely to the barn, the closest building to the edge of the clearing.

  While they moved in silence, shadows taunted her. A boulder to their right, and a half-grown calf on their left, were familiar shapes. The young cow snorted, and the humped outline reminded her to bend low, as she followed Bull.

  “Get low, Highlander, and make like a cow.”

  He growled, but bent over. The grass crackled beneath their feet. Autumn had arrived, and the animals would starve, if no one had cut and stored the hay all summer. At least rievers had not stolen her livestock.

  “If we hadn’t lost Balfour, we could cross the field by hiding behind his rump,” Bull said. He paused, and whispered a prayer for the mangy beast. His plea melted her heart.

  The man was a mystery, and this side of him was eye-opening. The wind rustled through what she hoped were her fruit trees, and another animal snorted near a large shape she assumed was her barn. When the moon suddenly appeared, an owl called to it. The moonlight showered the cow field with silver, and turned their path into a well-lighted meadow. If anyone glanced out the cottage window, they would see them. Bull glanced back at her. “Run!”

  “Aye. Beware the fence ahead,” she warned. The forest on three sides was a natural enclosure for the beasts, but the fence her father had built kept them out of the garden. The thought of possibly finding food made her stomach growl again.

  Bull threw the sword over the fence, then turned and grabbed her around the waist. He hoisted her up and over the stone wall, topped with logs and mud. Crouching at the base, she waited for him to join her. When he appeared by her side, he crouched. Picking up the sword, he patted her shoulder with his free hand.

  “I wish I had a weapon,” she whispered.

  He stretched out his other hand, shoving a branch in hers. “A little birdie told me you know how to swing one of these. It’s better than nothing.”

  “Aye. Jaden-Tog witnessed my ability firsthand. The barn is the building sitting there,” she said, pointing to their right.

  “And that building?”

  “My cottage. I doona’ see a light from a fire, or candles shining through the windows. ‘Tis a good omen. If anyone has taken up residence, there ought to be signs.”

  “Maybe they’re sleeping.” Bull yawned.

  “Stop that. If we be lucky, the cottage is empty, and no one will be waking at dawn to break their fast.”

  “Why did you have to mention food?” Bull rubbed his stomach.

  She chuckled. “Follow me.”

  Heading toward the barn, she stopped beneath a tree. She listened, but the wind barreling across the meadow, and the crack of branches hitting against each other, was all that pierced the night. She reached up and pulled a piece of fruit from a low-hanging branch.

  “Try this,” she said, then grabbed another. She did not wait for him to eat. Biting into the fruit, its tartness filled her mouth, as juices ran down her chin.

  Bull nudged her shoulder. “What is this?”

  “Food. Eat.”

  The crunch proved he had bitten into the fruit. For all he knew, she might have handed him poison. He trusted her and she had come to trust him, as well. Their shared feast was meager, but he did not complain. Until she dug up some carrots, and opened an ale keg, this was enough.

  “An apple. A bit on the sour side, but thanks,” Bull whispered.

  Staring at the cottage, uneasiness rattled her. The moon had painted the back of her former home with shadowy forms that invoked eerie sensations. When a cloud crept across the sky and all of the moonlight disappeared, she grabbed his elbow and pulled him toward the barn. They padded softly along the side, where a door stood ajar.

  “Me first,” he whispered.

  He ducked through the small door, and she followed. At the same time, the moon escaped the clouds. Its light pierced a roof badly in need of more thatch. Clucking chickens, and the rustle of mice, echoed through the empty barn.

  “What’s up there,” he nodded toward the hayloft.

  “Hay.”

  He chuckled. “I deserved that. Can we hide up there, until morning?”

  “Aye. Should be dry. The roof over that section appears solid. First, the ale.” By the light of the moon, she located the trap door hidden beneath several bushel baskets. If they were lucky, the ale kegs were untouched. Once she uncovered the hatch, he saw the door.

  “Allow me,” he said. Muscles along his scarred back strained against the weight. He moved slowly, so as not to broadcast their location, should strangers be near. She prayed his scarred flesh did not pain him, with each pull. Yearning to comfort him was inappr
opriate, at best.

  When the trap door was all the way up, she grabbed a metal bucket. Setting it on the edge, she drew up her skirt.

  “Let me,” Bull said.

  “Nay, ‘tis a small space. Wipe the dust off the bucket best ye can. I see kegs, and if they have no’ been drained…” She scooted down the stairs.

  Bull shoved the bucket in her face. “Fill!”

  The top of the barrel was loose. “Someone helped themselves. I pray ‘twas only Rae.”

  “Any left?”

  “Let me look. ‘Tis quite dark, down here.” Pushing with both palms, the top slid sideways. The scent of heather, honey, and fermented ale filled her nose. She half-filled the bucket then passed it up to Bull.

  “Only half? What are you going to drink?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Izzy grinned up at Bull from where she huddled in the dark root cellar. With danger all around them, and others in search of them, he could make a joke about a bucket of ale? “Och, yer a funny man. We shall share the ale. We need our wits about us, for whatever the night hides.”

  “And, we’ll face the dawn together,” he whispered.

  Her heart fluttered. Glancing around the small space of her family’s underground storage room, the total darkness was eerie. Scurrying creatures and the buzz of small insects made her hurry. Covering the ale barrel, she searched the shelves where she and her mother once stored their winter provisions. When she grabbed a familiar vegetable, relief swept through her.

  “Carrots,” she whispered. The threat of others occupying the nearby cottage set her teeth on edge. She dropped the bunch into her gathered skirt, then climbed out of the dusty storage room. Bull climbed down from the loft, where he must have taken the bucket.

  “What’s that, sweetheart?” he whispered, pointing to the feathery tops peeking from her skirt’s folds.

  “Sustenance.” She was suddenly tired. Bull accepted the bunch of vegetables so she could climb to the loft, unencumbered. He followed close behind, and pointed toward the bucket. Famished, thirsty, and weary, Izzy nestled against the wall. He had found a musty blanket that he had spread over loose clumps of hay. She was comfortable and dry, and they were safe.