The Highlander

by Terry Spear

She thought to say she needed to wash, but she was so wet that wouldn't work. Instead, she made the decision—right or wrong—and dashed through the woods for the river. Her heart pounded as she feared she'd never make it in time to escape their grasp. But she was desperate.

  "Non!" Pierre shouted, and she heard him and the other knights as they took chase, stomping on the underbrush, knocking aside supple tree branches blocking their way.

  She didn't believe she'd make it as twigs snagged at her hair, slowing her down as she tore at them to free herself, and she stumbled over tree roots. Then the churning river was before her. She might make it after all.

  A white frothing burn, trees growing along the rocky banks, some leaning out like leafy covered fingers stretching for the water—if she could only reach it before they stopped her. She dashed across the slippery, moss-covered rocks lining the river's bank and caught herself before she fell—and kept moving.

  She splashed through the shallower edge of the river and was ready to lunge into the deeper part to allow the swiftly moving currents to sweep her away when someone grabbed her arm.

  That startled a shriek from her. Instinctively, she swung back and slugged the knight in the chest, surprising him. In that precious moment, he lost his grip on her. She turned and dove forward into the icy, swift-flowing water.

  "Get the baroness and the horses!" Pierre shouted.

  She couldn't watch their progress as she floundered in the rough water, trying to keep her head above it, allowing the current to carry her away.

  She feared if she didn't get out of the water soon, she'd be too cold to be able to swim in it. She imagined the French knights were slipping all over the stony beach, trying to follow her progress, while the rest of them returned to the camp to get their horses and the baroness. But none joined her in the treacherous water. Mayhap none could swim.

  Cold, freezing, Anora was free—aye, but for how long?

  Not long after she took the plunge into the cold water, she saw movement on the opposite bank headed in her direction, racing along the shore—men in belted plaids—Cian's men, the same men who had visited her croft. Her heart flipped in slow motion. Did they realize who she was? That she was the same woman who lied to them about their missing men?

  If they got hold of her, would they murder her, turn her over to the French, or were they working for someone else?

  ***

  Niall didn't know what to make of it. A fire was blazing in the camp, birds skewered over the flames, but no sign of anyone. Had Anora and her French captors been the ones to make the camp?

  Matthew put out the fire while Gunnolf confiscated the roasted birds, and Niall searched for signs of where the party had disappeared.

  He quickly found muddy tracks in the woods and evidence they had hurried along the riverbank going in a southerly direction.

  "They took off, headed down the riverbank," Niall said as he returned to camp. "The tracks the horses left indicated they were in a hurry."

  "Surely, we didn't alert them," Matthew said, his brow furrowed.

  "I am no' certain what made them run, but the horses were galloping when they ran along the river bank."

  "You dinna believe the lass fell in the river," Gunnolf said, as they all rode in the direction the French party had taken.

  "Nay. I suspect if they were no' trying to outrun someone else, Anora jumped into the river, attempting to get away—if she could swim," Niall said, not liking the scenario one wee bit. He glanced at Matthew. "Can she swim?"

  "Aye, she can," Matthew said.

  "And you know this because?" Niall asked, not meaning to sound so angry, but he didn’t like the notion that Matthew knew she could swim.

  Matthew's mouth curved up some. "The shepherdess taught her."

  But what Niall wanted to know was whether Matthew had seen Anora swimming and how had she been clothed at the time? Even if she had worn a chemise, wet, it would have looked like a second skin. He knew it was a foolish thought, considering the peril Anora was now in, but he still couldn't help being irked.

  Not too much further downriver, they heard the Frenchmen shouting, but other men as well—only those were yelling in Gaelic.

  A shiver stole up Niall's spine as he realized not only were the French after her, but Cian and his men. Niall and his companions pulled their horses to a stop in the woods.

  Everyone was hollering about reaching the lass first. What the hell?

  Then from the edge of the woods, Niall spied the Frenchmen and woman, and Cian's men across the burn, galloping along the bank.

  All eyes were on the burn and that's when Niall saw her. Anora. God's teeth. She was bobbing up and down in the river, barely able to keep her head above the foaming water.

  "They will not catch up to her. The shoreline ends there," Matthew said, pointing ahead to an area where the cliffs rose high above, creating a canyon. "I know this area well. I used to come here with others when we were lads. They will either have to join her in the burn, or go the long way around. But I doubt anyone would be foolhardy enough to jump in after her."

  True to Matthew's word, the French party and the Highlanders all moved away from the river, to go the long way around, skirting the cliffs to reach the other side of the burn where they could again gain access to the river.

  "'Tis two miles before they can reach the river's banks again," Matthew said.

  Niall quickly handed the puppy to Gunnolf. "Take care of her for Anora." He didn't wait to hear Gunnolf's response, only saw his jaw drop for a second. Then Niall kicked his horse into the river. "Take care of my horse," he said to Gunnolf, knowing he need not have, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  Then Niall leapt off his horse and into the river, the icy water shocking his body instantly. His wound ached—bloody hell—every inch of him did as the bitter cold sliced through him. James had not said just how difficult bringing one wee lass to Craigly Castle would be. Yet, he would do everything in his power to rescue her and take her to safety.

  He worried, too, how badly Anora had to be feeling, as much as the frigid water was affecting him.

  "Can he swim?" Matthew asked, concerned.

  "Aye, like a fish," Gunnolf said.

  And then Niall couldn't hear anything more that his companions said, his body shivering as he attempted to keep afloat in the churning water as it carried him along. If he and the lass survived this… His teeth chattering, he wasn't certain what they would do. If she and he were carried down to where the Frenchmen and Cian's men could reach them, they would be in dire straits.

  Not too much further, Niall reached the canyon that cloaked the river from everyone's view. Even a mountain goat could not reach the top of the cliffs.

  He saw Anora then, clinging to a mossy rock in the middle of the river and felt a guarded relief that she was safe and had not continued to flounder in the water, trying to keep from drowning. She was hidden from anyone's sight, who remained ashore, and this was good news. He swam that way until he was nearly to the rock, attempting to maneuver in its direction so that he could catch onto it. Then the force of the water slammed him into the rock only a foot away from her.

  "Lass!" he yelled to her, his voice drowned out by the rushing river as he grabbed hold of the moss-covered stone. The water tugged at him with such fierceness, it was like it had a mind of its own and was intent on yanking him from his precious hold.

  Anora was staring at the rock, clinging to it for dear life, seemingly unaware that he had nearly reached her.

  "Anora," he called out to her when she didn't respond. He made his way over to her, his chilled fingers gripping the cracks and crevices of the water-worn, slippery rock for purchase.

  She turned her head, her eyes widening in shock. "Niall," she managed to get out, her teeth chattering. She looked chilled to the bone, her skin pale, her lips blue.

  "Aye, lass." He glanced at the shore behind them, but other than sheer cliffs that touched the rushing river,
there was no place for them to get out of the water on that side. Glancing at the other shoreline, he could see caves about twenty feet above the narrow rocky beach. "We are going to shore now. Grab my back. I will get us to that cave."

  "Aye," she said, barely able to speak, she was shivering so hard.

  She reached for him and he prayed she would be strong enough to hold on. And that he would be strong enough to swim against the swift currents and not miss their chance at reaching the beach.

  "Hold tight, lass." He was afraid she was so cold, she wouldn't have the strength. "Whatever you do, dinna let go."

  She grabbed hold of his back and he waited a moment until he felt she had a tight enough grip. Then he let go of the rock, determined to swim to the shore at all haste.

  Niall felt numb from the cold as he struggled to swim to the rocky shoreline with Anora clinging to his back. She provided the warmth and the encouragement to make it across as the river's strong pull carried him away from the cliffs. Silently cursing their predicament, Niall vowed he'd reach the bank before they lost the chance. Rocky cliffs again loomed ahead, but the stone faces were sheer sheets of granite stretching all the way to the water.

  Then his feet found the rock bottom, and he reached back and pulled at Anora's arm. "Lass, try to gain your footing."

  He felt her anchoring her feet against the rocks, helping him to withstand the tug of the water. As he made his way to shore, he slipped his arm around her waist, helping her against the swift currents. She stumbled, ready to collapse, but he held her up. She couldn't crumble on him now. They still had too far to go.

  "Just a wee bit further, bonny lass. 'Tis just a wee bit longer, and we will have shelter."

  Then they were on the shore and he helped her back along the stony beach to reach the caves above. He would have carried her, but she needed to walk, to keep the blood flowing, to help thaw her icy body.

  She clung to him, her movements stiff, her body shivering violently as much as his was. He wanted to build a fire, but he suspected they would not have the means.

  "Anora, we must climb those rocks," he said, drawing her against his body. "We must." He wasn't about to ask her if she could make it. She had no choice.

  But he didn't believe she could climb in her long léine and brat, both garments—water-repellant because of the wool's natural properties in a light rain, but swimming in them—they were soaking wet and clinging to her body.

  "Your gown will cause you difficulty when we make the climb," he warned.

  She nodded, shaking so hard, he wasn't certain she understood what he was saying. "I will tie them in between your legs so they will be like a man's breeches."

  Her eyes widened.

  "'Tis the only way, lass."

  She again nodded.

  Thunder boomed overhead and two flashes of lightning speared the trees in the distance. "A storm is coming." They were already wet enough. He wrung out her brat the best he could to reduce some of the weight she wore, then did the same with her léine. Once he finished with that, he tied her gown in between her legs so that she could climb better, her legs now exposed.

  "'Tis time to climb."

  "Aye," she said, her voice shaking with cold.

  She reached for a handhold, carefully, but so painfully measured, he assumed every muscle was rigid with the cold as half frozen as he was also. She slipped twice, nearly making his heart stop.

  "Hold on tight, lass." As if he needed to tell her. He made his way up the rock face, following her, hoping if she fell, he could catch her and still hold onto the cliff himself.

  They made the climb agonizingly slow—Anora having trouble reaching hand and footholds, slipping thrice more, and nearly giving him a heart attack each and every time.

  When she finally reached the lip of the cave, she peered in. He wanted to tell her to hurry before the rains and wind hit them and threatened to tear them from their tentative holds. But he suspected she was afraid of what might have taken refuge in the pitch blackness already, and he didn't want to rush her into taking a misstep at this point when they were so close to finding shelter inside.

  "Dark," she said, her voice an icy stutter, and she climbed the rest of the way to the cave's entrance.

  "Aye," he said, and as soon as he joined her in the cave, he took her into his arms just as the rains poured down off the top of the rocks like a waterfall. He looked around at the dark cave, and saw nothing to use to make a fire. Though even if they'd had a way, he worried they would have no way to ventilate the smoke. And if they had, those searching for Anora might see the smoke and realize where she was hiding.

  This way, mayhap those chasing after her would think she had drowned. How could she have survived the rocks and the wintry water all on her own? At least, that's what he hoped they would believe.

  All he could think of was thawing her frozen body when she said in her chilled voice, "Niall, are you all right? Your wound."

  The sweet lassie was more at risk, to Niall's way of thinking, and yet through it all, she still was more worried about him?

  "Ah, lass, 'tis your health that concerns me most. We canna start a fire, and there is but only one thing we can do to warm us."

  "We must stay close to share our heat," Anora said, holding Niall tight. Neither of them could quit shivering in the chilly, damp cave, their wet clothes clinging to them and making them even colder.

  "We have to get out of our wet clothes and huddle together," Niall said, concerned with how pale her face was and how hard she was shivering. Though he was shaking just as much.

  She attempted to unfasten the brooch clasped to her brat while he removed his plaid, then squeezed out the water. She only managed to prick her finger and drew blood. He quickly unfastened her brooch, wrung out her brat again, and laid it on top of his plaid to make a wet bed over the stone floor of the cave.

  The place was dark except for the faint light from the stormy day beyond the cave. He could still see every bit of her body, the way her léine clung to her curves, her ripe nipples, the curve of her full breasts, the lay of her skirt between her legs.

  When he reached out to help her with her gown, he saw the distress in her expression right away.

  "Nay, I cannot remove my léine," she said, her voice worried, a frown appearing across her brow.

  "Lass—"

  "Nay, I cannot," she said, sounding desperate.

  "I mean only to warm you, naught more, Anora," Niall said, attempting to reassure her, but he worried she thought he meant to ravage her. "I willna have you die on me due to the cold because we havena done everything we could to prevent it."

  She held his gaze and he was certain she understood how dangerous it was for her to resist the idea.

  "Lass, tell me what you fear," he said, taking her chilled hands in his and holding them tight to reheat them. Not that he didn't know. She was an unmarried lass and if she'd only considered Matthew as a friend, she had probably never had a lover before.

  She shook her head again.

  Niall wasn't going to argue with her. He had to remove her wet clothes, and then they'd snuggle in an attempt to thaw out. He took off his boots, and then her shoes. Hoping he wouldn't distress her too much with his nakedness, he pulled off his plaid and then he yanked off his tunic, and removed as much water from it as he could manage.

  Her gaze dropped as she took in every inch of his naked body. She didn't seem shocked or afraid, more curious than anything. Which was a good thing as he didn't want to make her feel apprehensive.

  "Now for you, Anora."

  "Nay. I will be fine. Truly."

  He reached down and untied her léine, allowing the hem to drop to the cave floor.

  "Niall, I will be fine, really."

  He didn't allow her any further argument, and lifted the léine up and over her head and tried to ignore the way her chemise clung to her, making it appear as though she wore nothing at all.

  He quickly turned to squeeze the water from the fabri
c away from their makeshift bedding, and then added the gown to the rest of their clothing. Then he slipped the sopping wet chemise off next, wrung it out, and quickly tossed it on the bedding so he could close the distance between them. Having noticed her gaze focused on his body, he had to fight a smile—when he was trying his damnedest not to look every bit of her over—right before he noticed she wore the torque he had offered her. Pleased beyond compare, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her in a tight embrace.

  "A man should not be with a woman close like this when she is… she is… not married to him," she said, her teeth chattering from the cold.

  "Shhh, Anora. 'Tis the only way we can warm each other the best we can if we are to survive. We do this only to keep from getting sick from being so cold."

  Although he kept thinking how natural they were together, how much he wished it could be.

  He began to rub her back, and she did the same to him, her ice cold fingers warming against his skin, her breasts and torso and legs pressed against him, heating his front.

  He worried his body wouldn't behave despite being chilled to the bone once she was rubbing her body against his. He feared he'd scare her off. But no matter how he couldn't control his arousal, he couldn't let her back away, either. They needed this intimacy—though he kept telling himself it wasn't so much intimacy as a necessary condition. Yet, it went way beyond that for him. Ever since the wild shepherdess had poked him in the back with her pitchfork, he'd wanted her—wanted to play with her, wanted—this.

  Not in a cold, damp cave, however. Her bed would have been preferable.

  But he didn't want her to fear him or his intentions.

  She continued to rub his back vigorously up and down just to the tip of his spine, and he wanted to tell her his arse was cold, too. He smiled as he rested his head against the top of hers, alternating from rubbing her arms to rubbing her back, and then continued lower.

  She paused.

  "Dinna stop, lass," he whispered against her head. The moment she quit touching him, his skin grew icy again. "'Tis like rubbing your hands together on a cold winter's day. Dinna you feel better also?"