Claimed By The Highlander (The Highlands Warring Clan Mactaggarts Book 1)

by Anne Morrison

  Now, for some reason, it was on the tip of his tongue to casually mention his life and his mission to Elizabeth, and if that wasn't a sure form of idiocy, he wasn't sure what was.

  “Until?”

  “Until I did. Things change. I didn't like the city much at first, but I got used to it.”

  To his surprise, Elizabeth reached a cold hand down to his, squeezing it gently.

  “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried, should I?”

  Reade blinked. He realized with some amusement that she thought she had blundered into some dark memory, something that had driven him from what he knew into the city. It was a common enough story, if a sad one, and he wasn't above using it to prevent further indiscretions on his part.

  “It's fine, or at least it doesn't bother me any longer. Perhaps we would both be well served if we stayed away from the dark things in the past, aye?”

  “That sounds like a very good idea. It seems we both have wounds that are better off untouched, doesn't it?”

  They were both silent for a moment, and Reade felt all the more certain that there was something she wasn't telling him about how she had left Ayr and everything that had happened to her there. He was unprepared for the sudden surge of anger that coursed through him at the idea that someone had hurt her, hurt her so badly that she was sent running north straight into land that was commonly thought to be populated only with brigands and sheep.

  Reade had always been painfully aware of the unfairness of the world, and both he and his brother had always been raised to even the odds a bit when they could. Those lessons were especially important when the English came north, and for years, it felt as if there was always a burning coal of rage in his chest, quietly burning away and keeping him warm when fires would make them too visible to the invaders.

  This rage, that someone would look at Elizabeth and see not a sweet young girl, but a victim, sent a piercing hot rage through his chest, and he didn't realize that his grip on her had tightened until she squeaked a little.

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It's all right. It just surprised me. I... I wouldn't mind if you held me like that. If you didn't grab on so suddenly.”

  The last was offered in a small and oddly subdued voice, and Reade moved more slowly than he needed to as he wrapped his arm around her again. After a moment, he opened his cloak so that he could envelop her in its folds, and he felt her relax against him.

  “Warm,” she murmured.

  Reade smiled.

  “Yes. We can ride for a bit before we should give Finnian a bit of a break. I won't let you fall if you want to drowse off.”

  She was in the middle of telling him how silly that was, and how she was certainly not going to fall asleep on horseback, but then she yawned mightily. In just another few moments, she was drowsing against his chest, and Reade sighed a little.

  “What a puzzle you are, little lass,” he whispered, and he brought her more closely against him.

  Simply to keep her warm, of course.

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  chapter 8

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  They passed the day walking and riding in turns, and Elizabeth got acquainted with the bare ruts that passed for roads in the North, the gelding Finnian who was more careless with his hooves than might be preferred and muscles that she wasn't sure she even knew she had.

  Reade walked with the same easy gait that the horse did, his head up and as if he could walk for miles yet. Elizabeth was tired before the sun was at the zenith, and when she thought that he must stop for food, he reached into his bag and handed her a thick hard disc of bread and a few slices of greasy cheese.

  “It'll be better once we get to some of the crofts and can provision ourselves decently. They'll give us a better price than the merchants in Glasgow ever will.”

  The food helped, but she had to nibble on it while they were walking. She felt as if every part of her was slowly setting on fire, as if she might have given everything she had on her to simply stop and rest.

  The time spent on horseback was better, but when she tried to sit sidesaddle as a lady should, Reade shook his head.

  "You had the right idea before. Sit astride."

  "Why? It's indecent."

  "No one cares about that in the North, and it's far safer."

  He pointed toward the distant mountains, still so far away that they were a dim blue haze on the horizon.

  "We'll be crossing through some of the foothills at least to get to Dun Warring, and we might be going in deeper if there's news of brigands to avoid. If Finnian gets an idea in his head to spook right next to a ravine, you're going straight in, and I'm not going in after you."

  "You would."

  "Well. Probably. But I think we would both rather you didn't go into the ravine in the first place. The cold never leaves those peaks, not really, and the water holds on to it even harder than the ground does. Besides, your legs aren't anything to be ashamed about."

  The last was offered so lightly that she was sure it must be a joke, but maybe there was a small part of her that rather liked the fact that he had been looking at her legs. Her father would have roared, and her mother would have scolded her about it, but London and the life that she had led before felt terribly far away right now, and for once, that was just fine.

  Riding astride, Elizabeth had to admit, was more practical than riding sidesaddle, sitting as if the horse's back was a bench. She could feel at once that she was more secure and that Finnian was carrying her weight more comfortably besides. However, what she hadn't expected was how the leather of the saddle would rub her inner thighs, and how the cold and the damp seemed to seep into her bones no matter how tightly Reade held her.

  When the sun finally started to sink in the west, and when he urged Finnian off the road to a small copse of trees, she felt as if she would die of exhaustion.

  She fell off the horse with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, and she was too tired even to mind when Reade laughed at her.

  "Look at you. You look as if you've been scrubbing steps and washing windows all day instead of having a bit of a walk."

  "I would rather scrub floors in the worst hall in all of Londontown then spend another minute on board that nag... Oh, Finnian, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

  The gelding had come to nudge her gently on the shoulder with his soft nose, and she felt a surge of guilt. She stroked his velvety face for a moment, but when the gelding discovered that she didn't have anything sweet to give him, he turned to Reade, who hobbled him and gave him a gentle slap on the neck.

  "Old faker, you ought not tease the girls like that."

  Reade rummaged in his bag and came up with a small box as well as steel and flint. He gave them to her while pulling out a sling along with some hard, round pebbles.

  "If you can light an oven, you can light a fire. Get to it, and I'll get us some water. I saw a stream a little ways away. I might see if there's some game to be had, as well."

  "But... whose land is this? You haven't permission to hunt here, do you?"

  Reade laughed at her.

  "You've been spending too much time in the Lowlands, my lass. This is just land, and no man owns it."

  "But that can't be. The land must be... maintained and protected."

  Reade shrugged.

  "It seems to be doing just fine without anyone posting a guard or making a fuss. And it won't mind if I decide to find myself a pair of fine plump rabbits.

  See to the fire. You'll be happy you did if I have any luck."

  Elizabeth waited until Reade was lost to the trees before she staggered to the flat space close by. It was obvious that they weren't the first to stop there. There was a log that someone had left to sit on and a small ring of stones where the black charcoal remains of a fire could be seen. He had said that kindling a fire wasn't so different from lighting a stove, and she supposed he would be right. Of course, the problem was that she had never seen
to lighting a stove before, either. She was startled by the sudden tide of sadness that came over her at the thought of how she had used to live, in comfort and without care in London.

  Oh, heavens, I cannot cry because I miss the house in Londontown so much. I will not be such a baby because there are no servants to warm the house for me. Little Eva could light the stove in London; I can hardly do less.

  She opened the box to reveal a great deal of fluffy dry shreds of bark and twigs. It would light up fast, but it certainly wasn't enough to keep them warm, let alone to cook anything that Reade managed to find. There were, however, fallen branches all around her, and some of it was even passably dry.

  Despite the pain that threaded through her body, and despite her cold and aching fingers, Elizabeth felt a certain sense of satisfaction at building the fire. She wasn't helpless or useless. She could do this at least.

  It seemed to take forever, and she cut her fingers more than once on the flint, but the small pile of kindling and sticks that she had clumsily piled in the fire was finally beginning to smolder by the time Reade returned, carrying a fat rabbit over his shoulder. From where she sat, she shuddered a little to see that terrible blow to the head that had killed it. It reminded her in a way that she had somehow forgotten that Reade's business was ending lives, and she knew that most of the time, it was more serious than simply getting them food.

  "Well, that's coming along," Reade said, and then there was an almighty bang that ran through the clearing. The sound was so loud that Elizabeth shouted, and Reade threw himself forward to pull her toward him. Not far away, Finnian tossed his head, whinnying in a panic, and the silence that came afterward was almost equally deafening.

  "What... what in the world...?"

  Reade stood up and went to look at the fire, and then he started to laugh.

  "Lass, lass, was your house so fine that they brought the wood to you all perfectly dry?"

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  He picked up a rather singed branch, holding it up for her to see the white and raw splinters at the center of it. He was laughing at her, but when he spoke, his words were kind.

  "Green wood, Elizabeth. It still has sap and water inside. When you got the fire going, the heat set the water to boil."

  "Oh, heavens, and it exploded." Elizabeth covered her eyes with her hands.

  "Aye, and you're lucky it was such a small branch. I've seen a man who put green wood into his fire, and it when it exploded, it put a piece of wood into his face."

  Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. All of her elation at being able to build the fire from earlier was gone to be replaced with a kind of despair that sunk into her bones, making her entire body ache more than it had before. She deserved to be scolded and laughed at.

  Instead, Reade came to touch her shoulder gently.

  "You really didn't know, did you?"

  "No. I'm sorry."

  "Ah, well. No harm done, and look, no one has a hole in their face. Will you come and let me do as I should have done and show you?"

  "You'll show me? And you're not angry?"

  "No. Not at all. Your face when you looked so surprised was payment enough if any were needed."

  "Reade!"

  "Ah, I do like you better spitting and fighting than in despair. Come on. I'll show you how to find the wood you need. And perhaps to use a bit less of my kindling."

  Reade was as patient as he promised, and in less time than she would have thought, there was a fire crackling in the stone circle, built up from her rather clumsy pyramid of carefully gathered dry wood. She lay on Reade's cloak, feeling herself warm up for the first time in what felt like hours as Reade set up a spit to roast the rabbit over.

  She fell into a light sleep, dreaming of nothing, until Reade woke her for food.

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  chapter 9

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  Reade was used to sleeping rough, but it was clear that Elizabeth was not. She fell asleep almost as soon as he rolled them into his cloak, offering yet another protest about propriety before once again realizing she was too tired to care about her Lowland rules.

  No wonder they say that the Lowlanders are growing to be more English than the English. How in the devil is she going to get along in Dun Warring?

  He knew something of Dun Warring, though he had never paid it a proper visit. It was a prosperous little town on the banks of the Haralds River, but it was still nothing compared to the towns he had seen in the South. How would Elizabeth fare with her relatives in a town that must be so much rougher than what she was used to?

  Well, they had better treat her with kindness and care. If they cannot teach her, then they are the ones who are fools.

  She had watched with the intense attention of a kitten learning to hunt when he showed her how to make the fire, and he rather thought that he would not have to teach her twice.

  Reade decided as he fell asleep, curled around her as if they had spent every night together, that perhaps during their journey he could teach her other things she might need to know in the North. He could feel his body stir at the idea of teaching Elizabeth, but he was exhausted himself and fell into a deep sleep instead.

  * * *

  "Wake up, slugabed. There's food, but then there's another long day in front of us."

  "Just bury me here. I don't want to go north. I don't want to go south, I don't want to do anything..."

  "Burying's an extra charge, I'm afraid. Come on, Elizabeth. Food's hot, and it won't stay that way."

  She rose up with a groan, her hair a bit of a fright after sleeping on the ground, but still lovely even in her rough servants’ attire. Her feet looked shockingly white and bare, but then as she staggered close to the fire where he was heating the rabbit and catching the drippings with the hard bread, he looked closer.

  "Elizabeth, wait."

  "Did you truly wake me up with the promise of food only to tell me it wasn't for me? Because I swear, I will slap you for that, even if I can barely reach your face."

  "No. Come here. Sit down, I'll bring you your food."

  When she was settled with some food in front of her and a quizzical look on her face, Reade came to kneel in front of her, looking at one foot and then the other. Even in this situation, there was something at the back of his mind that said she had quite nice feet, trim and well-made, but he was more worried about the red blisters that had been rubbed into her heels and her toes.

  When he reached for one, however, Elizabeth pulled away with a scowl.

  “You needn't stare.”

  “How long have you had these blisters? You didn't have them last night, did you?”

  “Well, I would be much more alarmed if they came up while I was sleeping, wouldn't you be?”

  “Not the time to be clever, Elizabeth. Can you even walk on them?”

  He saw something complicated flutter past her face, fear and regret and something else before it settled on nervous defiance.

  “Of course, I can.”

  “I don't think you can. I don't think you should walk with your feet like this.”

  “No. I will. We are not delaying this journey.”

  “We might have to, if you can't walk. You could do yourself some serious harm if you keep this up.”

  “Stop it, stop telling me what I can and cannot do! We are not breaking this journey, I can walk.”

  There was a rising note of alarm in her voice, and Reade wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms. However, there was something so brittle about her, so nervous and so terribly pained that he didn't dare. If he touched her now, she might fly into a million pieces, and that thought broke his heart.

  “All right. I'm not telling you any of that. But what I will say is that your feet look very painful for you to walk on, and today will be as bad as yesterday and possibly worse.”

  Tears filled Elizabeth's eyes, and now he could see the dark circles underneath them, t
he strength that was at once as fragile and as strong as spider silk, along with the fear that whatever strength she had would simply not be enough.

  “I can walk. I can. Don't leave me here. Please.”

  Reade stared at her for a moment, and then he couldn't resist her any longer. He pulled her into his lap and hugged her tight. At first, she was stiff against him, but after a moment, she melted like ice. She didn't sob, but she sank into him, holding on to him as if her strength was trickling away like sand through her fingers.

  “I'm not going to leave you behind. I never would. I promise. I promise.”

  “Never?”

  “No. Not ever.”

  There was something about the promise that echoed in his heart in a way he didn't quite understand. It wasn't in his nature to abandon someone in need. He wasn't someone who could do something like that, but there was more to it than that. He pushed it away, because they couldn't stay there forever.

  “Can I look at your feet, please?”

  “All right.”

  Her feet were blistered, and Reade could see with a flinch that it would get worse if they had to walk as they had before. However, it wasn't as bad as he feared, and he reached for his bag and the water skin he had filled the night before. Elizabeth sucked in her breath as he cleaned her feet, squirming but otherwise not making a sound when he applied some of the salve he kept in a small earthenware jar. It would sting a little, but it would stave off infection, and then he went to gather some of the moss from the trees.

  “We'll pack the moss into your boots. It should help cushion you against the leather.”

  “What about my thighs?”

  She said the words so softly at first that he wasn't sure he had heard her.

  He blinked at her.

  “What about your thighs?”

  “They're. Um. They're sore, too. From the saddle.”

  Reade swore, but then cut it off when Elizabeth flinched. He decided he was the worst fool to come out of the mountains. He had known that she was nothing more than a maid from Ayr. Where would she have learned to ride, let alone the long distances that they needed to cover in the Highlands?