The Highlander Page 5

  “I would show you much more than that if I thought I could get away with it, but I believe that is quite enough for now.” He quirked a brow, challenging her.

  She thought she couldn't be shocked any further. “Quite enough for now?" Her voice had elevated a bit. The gall of the Highlander. High-handed, arrogant, and probably loved by all the lasses.

  "You think if you shower me with your affections, I will allow you to sleep in my bed with me tonight?” she asked, feeling a wee bit lightheaded.

  And she almost wished he would press his lips against hers so she could experience what it would feel like being kissed by such a man as Niall. Only she would not permit herself to entertain the notion any further as he would know just how much he affected her.

  He grinned as he rose from the bed and grabbed his sword. “I would think naught of the sort, though if you did suggest it, I would no’ object too terribly much.”

  “I thought not. I will not suggest it.” Heavens have mercy and here she was thinking just that—snuggling with the hot blooded Highlander on a cold winter's night. Naked. And his arms wrapped around her while they nestled under the sheepskins.

  “I suspected as much. If you would be kind enough to fix a bed of straw for me beside your door, so that I can be sure you dinna slip past me tonight while I sleep…”

  “You cannot sleep with me in the same room,” she said, so indignantly, she was ready to retrieve her pitchfork and poke him with it again.

  “Since your door opens into the sleeping room, I will have to have my bed against the door from the inside. 'Tis the only way I will be sure—”

  "You can sleep in the main room—by the door!"

  "Nay, lass, you could climb out one of the windows in there while I was asleep. 'Tis the only way we can do this."

  “I should not have sewn your wound.” Not that she really meant it. She was glad to have done so after seeing how bad it was.

  She seized her brat and pulled it around her shoulders and meant to leave the room, but saw Niall pulling John's brown tunic over his head, wincing horribly.

  As wounded as he was, he had to be in awful pain, and she felt terrible that he’d had to fight with her to keep her from running away. She wished she could ease his suffering in some way.

  But then he said with a smirk, “I have never had a woman see me so undressed before when she is so fully clothed.”

  Her face heated to hotter than her boiling stew. That quashed any idiotic notion she had about soothing him in his current injured condition.

  “I thought you would have dozens of female servants swarming to caress your soft skin with their touch as they bowed to your every whim.” Then she stalked out of the room.

  When he followed her, she added, “I am glad Matthew is not too proud to work hard for a living. He would have run to aid me without the slightest hesitation.”

  Anora continued out of doors, and Niall closed the door after her. “Who is he? Is he the young boy who came to see you earlier?”

  Niall's calling Matthew a young boy grated on her. As if she was robbing the butcher and his wife of their wee lad. She harrumphed.

  “He is not so young. He is two years older than me, and he is the butcher’s son.” She tried not to appear exasperated at Niall's condescending tone concerning Matthew. She was unsuccessful.

  “The butcher wouldna wish his son to marry a shepherdess, would he?”

  She gave Niall an annoyed look. Between the two of them, she far outranked the butcher's son. Though that had to remain her secret.

  “Who said anything about marriage?” Anora walked over to the sheep’s pen.

  Niall leaned against the railing as Anora unhooked the gate. “You are really quite lovely. I hadna noticed at first when you poked me with your pitchfork. But since then I have observed, for being a Lowland Scot, that you are really quite attractive.”

  “What makes you think I am interested in what your thoughts are concerning me?”

  Yet she couldn't help but be flattered that Niall would say such a thing. Matthew never complimented her about the way she appeared to him. Sometimes, she felt more like a sister to him than anything else.

  Niall gave her another smug smile. “All lassies wish to know what a man thinks of them.”

  She shook her head, not wishing him to know how much his compliment had pleased her. “I do not associate with men except when I sell my sheep. So it makes no difference how you view me as far as I am concerned,” she lied, afraid mayhap he only said so, in the event he might convince her to share her bed with him.

  She didn't have much experience when it came to men, and John's sister, whom she thought of as her mother—though it seemed odd at times to think of them that way since they were brother and sister—had constantly warned her how men could say anything to sway a woman to do their bidding.

  Charlie corralled her sheep, and Anora walked off to join them. Niall caught up with her and took her arm as they sauntered through the field.

  “You do not fear that I will run away now, do you?” Anora asked, surprised at his action, though his touch was gentle now, unlike earlier when she was fighting to free herself.

  “Nay, I have too tight a grip on you. You willna get away.”

  “I would not abandon my sheep. They are my livelihood after all.” Anora surveyed the dozen sheep grazing in the field. “You are leaving after supper, and not staying with me in the cottage.” She pulled away from him and searched for berries in the grasses.

  “How could I live without your kindness? Besides, the view is quite spectacular from here.”

  Niall considered Anora as she leaned over to pick loganberries, currants, and bilberries scattered in the tall meadow grass, bent slightly in the cool breeze. She stuffed the mixture of berries into a sheepskin satchel at her belt, and then watched her sheep as they grazed in the meadow. Niall observed the hills that surrounded the area and saw no sign of his friend or any others. He had to search for Gunnolf, but he didn't believe he'd get very far with the way he was still hurting.

  Turning to face Anora, he pulled a torque from his leather pouch. He had planned to gift the woven metal decorated in knot-work designs to the French lass when they found her to show friendship. But now, he wished to give the necklace to Anora.

  “I believe your eyes are pretty as the gemstone set in this torque.” He twisted the chain in his fingers, and saw Anora watching him. “I… would like you to have this in payment for my meal and lodging for the night. It seems only fair that I pay for my way.”

  But he meant it as more of a goodwill gesture for all her kindness to him and making his stay here so memorable. He would never forget the pitchfork-wielding shepherdess, or the way her warm hands had touched his skin while she sewed up his wound.

  “I cannot take your money, or your gifts. You may expect more from me in return. I know how men think.”

  He stifled the urge to laugh. “Do you now? I meant only to pay for my stay as I would have paid for my lodging in the village had I gone there for the eve.”

  “Why do you not?”

  “’Tis better that I stay here.” He slipped the torque back into his sporran.

  “Better? Are the men who harmed you still likely to be looking for you?"

  Niall said nothing in response. He hoped they were not.

  Anora looked up at the smattering of clouds passing overhead as they drifted over the sun, now situated halfway between the earth and the heavens above. “Why me, my Father? What have I done to deserve this now?” Glancing back at Niall, she said, “And to think early this morn I was praising the Lord that my life was going so well for a change.”

  “How so, Anora?” His wound began to ache something awful again, and he touched the binding, wishing he could make it stop hurting.

  She didn't answer him, her brow furrowed with concern, instead asking, “Are you still in a lot of pain?”

  “Some, but I suspect 'twill heal nicely because of your skill with the needle.”


  “You could still get an infection. That can be deadly, you know.” Anora reached over to touch the fabric and frowned to see blood on her fingertips. “'Tis still bleeding. You should not have walked all the way out here with me. One of the local laird’s sons was slightly wounded at a skirmish in France, but his cuts became infected, and he died within weeks after high fevers ravaged his body. We were all quite shocked over the whole affair.”

  “France,” Niall said, his voice darkening a bit as he remembered the mission James had sent him on. He thought to ask her if she knew the whereabouts of the Frenchwoman he sought. But then, if she lived way out here, she might not know anything about her. “I thought you said you did no’ associate with men.”

  “I do not. He and his men just stopped here on their way to the village of Banbh to water their horses. When I was at market a month later, I heard what had happened to the poor man.” Anora considered Niall’s tunic again, and then shook her head. "When we return to the cottage, I will look at your wounds again. You may stay the night, but then you must leave.”

  “What if I should become feverish...” he said, jesting, loving when she reacted so to his teasing taunts.

  “You cannot!” Anora was torn between doing what was right for him—allowing Niall the time he needed to heal before he left—and what was right for her—that he left before he caused her further trouble. “You must leave here after that. Most likely, Matthew will return in the morn, and if he finds you here...”

  “You will tell him I am your cousin,” Niall said, the teasing light leaving his expression.

  She gaped at Niall. Then finding her wits, she said, “He will be surprised to hear that.” She didn't believe any of her ancestors would have ever married a Highlander.

  “Then a distant cousin.”

  “You cannot continue to stay here.” She doubted Niall would take her seriously though, no matter how vehemently she spoke the words. But more so because she doubted he could safely risk leaving her lands until he had recovered further.

  When the sky turned into ribbons of red and yellow silk as the night began to fall, she called and motioned to Charlie to gather the sheep, as she tried to think of some way to get the Highlander to leave.

  "Laird Callahan is the local laird and mayhap his physician could see to your wounds. He would want to know that Highland thieves stole your horse and left you for dead. He would not tolerate such criminal behavior here."

  Niall only shook his head.

  Not that she had expected him to do anything else, but it was worth a try.

  Charlie chased the sheep toward their pen, nipping at their flanks, moving them quickly as Anora and Niall walked back to the croft. When Charlie had finished corralling the sheep, Anora latched the gate, and then headed for the cottage. She and Niall entered the main room where she lifted her pouch, and then deposited the berries on the table.

  “Sit and rest while I get some more mead from my cellar.”

  “I will come with you,” Niall said, looking at her with an expression that said he didn’t trust her for a moment.

  “You need to rest. I would not leave you to warn someone.” Yet, if she had the opportunity, she would be torn to do just that.

  Looking distrustful, he wrinkled his brow at her.

  She shook her head. “Very well. Follow me if you must.” But if he did not rest, he would never heal, and then he would never leave.

  Once Niall and she returned to the cottage, she had him remove his borrowed tunic, but he grimaced.

  "Here, let me. You are like a child who cannot do anything for himself," she said in a scolding tone.

  He smiled at her, probably thinking she didn't believe him to be anything like a child. Not the way her heartbeat accelerated every time she got near him, felt his heat, and smelled his hot-blooded manliness. Why did she never think of Matthew in those terms? Mayhap, because she had never seen him this naked before? Except when he was a scrawny lad. Well, even now Matthew was scrawny, not half as well-muscled as Niall.

  She took care to remove his binding and seeing that the wound was only leaking a small amount of blood, most likely from the walking they had done with the sheep, she sighed with relief. "You have not broken the stitching." She rebound the wound and was about to help him pull the tunic over his head when she noted blood along the neckline in back. "What is this? Turn around and let me see your back."

  She felt the blood on the back of his head. "You have been wounded here also."

  "Aye. 'Tis a hard head I have, though the brigand thumped it hard enough to knock me out. 'Tis probably what saved me, as otherwise, I would have continued to battle him. And there were more waiting in line to fight me."

  "Oh, Niall. All right. I must tend to this also." She grabbed a cloth and moistened it, then began to wash the back of his head.

  "Ow," Niall said, when she touched the wound.

  "I am so sorry. Just a little more. Good thing 'tis no longer bleeding. And now at least 'tis cleaned up. You should have told me you were injured there," she scolded. "Does it pain you very much?"

  "Some, lass. 'Twas why I wished you to settle down with me and let me rest."

  "I am sorry. Had I known…"

  "I doubt you would have seen me as anything but your enemy still," Niall said, giving her a small smile. "Thank you, Anora." He stood, took her hand, and again he kissed it. He was looking down at her, his eyes smoky with desire, and she was fairly certain he wanted to kiss more of her than just her hand.

  And she wanted him to. Yet, what if he wanted more than that? Despite his condition, she suspected he could still ravish her, if she offered him the chance.

  She snatched her hand away and hurried off to poke at the stew meat—a much safer task. “’Tis almost done."

  She stirred the stew for a moment, then turned her attention to the berries she'd gathered in the grasses. After throwing them into a small pan, she placed it over the fire and added honey to sweeten the softened fruit. Afterward, she covered the mixture with finely ground hazelnuts and brown breadcrumbs, set the pan back into the embers, covering it with a cauldron overturned on top of it to form a lid.

  Anora finally ladled stew into clay bowls.

  Niall leaned over to enjoy the aroma of the highly spiced, thick-gravy stew. “You would make a nice addition to my cousin's staff.”

  “Because I can cook?” She snorted. "I work for none but myself. I have my cottage and my sheep. Slave away in a kitchen to serve meals to you and your cousin, the laird?" Not to mention they were Highland barbarians. “Once you leave here—tomorrow, early—you will forget all about the likes of me and my cooking.”

  “I willna forget you all that easily, lass, with the crystal blue eyes, and lips like that of the pink primrose that grows wild in the meadow."

  She was waiting to hear more. She'd never heard a man describe her in such a beautiful way and she truly loved it—even if he wasn't being completely honest with her.

  Niall frowned, considering something else about this man who had come to see her earlier. He didn't know why, but he truly didn't care for this man who sought audience with her when she was all alone. "Has this Matthew of yours kissed those lovely lips…”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Matthew is not mine and…”

  Charlie suddenly rose from the floor and gave a little woof.

  Niall's body tensed with a warrior's wariness. The only good thing was that if anyone had come for him, he doubted the person would have knocked. He glanced at Anora. She had lost all the color in her face. They both turned to face the door.

  A knocking on it made Niall jump from his chair, curse harshly under his breath when his head and side hurt like the devil, and he unsheathed his sword to face his foe. He hesitated to consider his next move. He didn't want Anora in harm's way should there be a fight. He glanced at the one small window on the backside of the cottage, thinking she could make her escape that way.

  Anora stood and stared at the door as frozen as
he was with indecision.

  All he could think of was that some of the Murray clansmen had discovered Niall's body had disappeared and were now searching cottages in the area—to make sure they killed him right this time. But then again, why would one of the men knock so politely on the door?

  Chapter 5

  Charlie wiggled back and forth before the door, wagging his tail in anticipation at seeing the person or persons outside the cottage, when a man from beyond the door called out, “Anora?”

  “'Tis only Matthew,” Anora said, feeling greatly relieved that the visitor wasn't a man who wished to kill Niall.

  Though she didn't know how she would explain Niall's presence here and her whole body warmed with embarrassment. She was certain Matthew would not like this business at all. She glanced at Niall, a tightly wound warrior ready to kill, and at once she felt a sense of panic. How could she explain her "cousin's" plaid garment indicating he was a Highland barbarian?

  "If you are supposed to pretend you are a relation, you should not be wearing thus," she whispered frantically, motioning to his plaid. "And you must put your sword away at once."

  “I am your Highland relation. Go then,” Niall said, as he walked with her to the door, then sheathed his sword. “Remember, I am your distant relation, Niall, who has come here to stay awhile.”

  “Awhile?” she asked, her heart still in her throat as she looked up at his determined expression.

  “I must heal from my wounds,” he said.

  “They are not all that great,” she countered, frowning at him. Yet she knew he was right. He should rest for a few more days at the very least. His wound could cause him further difficulty if it became infected.

  “Anora!” Matthew called out.

  “Answer the door,” Niall said softly with a barely concealed threat.

  She ground her teeth. Charlie bounced around at the door, waiting eagerly.

  Heart pounding, Anora pulled it open.

  Matthew looked in and glared at the man who stood behind her, wearing her guardian’s tunic, the plaid reaching his knees, and the sword sheathed at his waist. Charlie jumped against Matthew's legs, trying to get his attention.