The Highlander Page 9

  ***

  Early that morn, Anora rubbed her eyes, then reached over to her table to light a candle. “Charlie,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb Niall if he finally was able to sleep. Her dog did not greet her like he normally did.

  A shiver of dread crept up her spine. He should have been poking at her with his wet, cold nose long before this, eager to go outside.

  She fumbled with the candle. After lighting it, she stared to see the straw bed had been shoved away from the door. Niall and Charlie were gone.

  No matter how much she told herself Niall must have needed to leave the cottage for personal business, she couldn't help worrying he was trouble. Yet, the cottage seemed so empty without his domineering presence. She should be glad he was up and about and not languishing from a fever.

  Anora quickly climbed out of bed, then reached for her léine. She lifted it off the chair in a hurry and something fell to the floor with a clunk. Looking down, she found the lovely torque Niall had offered her in payment for his stay, sitting in a coil on the floor. She leaned over and picked it up, then ran her hand over the smoky quartz. No one had ever given her a gift such as that. It was precious and she would cherish it always.

  After pulling the chain over her head, she slipped into her gown, and carried the candle with her as she opened her door to the main part of the cottage. She stared at the room left unchanged from the night before. She peered out the window facing the sheep’s pen. Still seeing nothing amiss, nor any sign of Niall or her dog, she set her candle on the table, and blew it out.

  Anora walked outside and saw Charlie running through the meadow, his tongue hanging out, his brown ears flying. The sky was awash in a soft yellow and pink sunlight.

  She whistled for him. He barked and ran for her. Relieved to see him, she patted his furry head. She wondered if Niall had gone in search of his friend.

  “Where did Niall go?” she asked, as Charlie pounced on her, wagging his tail in a vigorous fashion, whipping a whirlwind of air in its path. “Well, come on, we must take the sheep out this morning. I feel as though I slept not at all last night.”

  Yet, she couldn't push aside the anxiousness churning in the pit of her stomach. She had wanted Niall to leave, aye. But he was too badly injured to travel far. And she didn't even want to think about what might happen if he attempted it.

  Had he decided she was not the woman he sought and went in search of the right woman?

  Thinking of the way he kissed her with tenderness and caring, Anora wondered how he'd view her if he knew who she truly was. He would probably wish he hadn't touched her—concerned that her noble family, if they learned of it, would want his head on a pike—and that saddened her.

  She opened the gate to the pen, then motioned for Charlie to take the sheep out. He nipped at their withers and headed them out to the nearby hills.

  She was unable, or mayhap unwilling, to refrain from thinking about Niall and how he'd made her feel—like a woman, desirable, even interesting. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she nearly missed seeing movement on the horizon. Men on horseback crested one of the hills, their swords glittering in the early morning sunlight. Her heartbeat quickened. Who were they?

  The men were dressed in plaids much as Niall had been, not breeches like the locals wore. Were they Niall's men, searching for him? Or the men who had tried to murder him?

  Panicked, Anora ran for the cottage. She dashed inside and stared at the hearth where she'd hung Niall’s tunic to dry, meaning to hide the torn garment.

  Finding it had vanished, she realized he must have left her behind. She prayed he would be safe from these men, if they were the brigands who had wounded him so. And that he would not fall ill from his wounds. Or that they would catch up to him again.

  Grabbing her staff, she ran back outside to see Charlie waiting for her in the meadow. Trying to appear as though she had nothing to hide, she walked out to join him. She frowned when one of the men motioned to some of the others to go to Anora’s cottage. Five of the men split off from the main group, then headed in her direction, as the rest continued toward the village. Anora stood her ground and waited with her sheep, her heart skipping beats. She tightened her hold on her staff. The men galloped toward her, sending muddy earth flying in their wake, alarming her sheep. They scattered in all directions.

  She ground her teeth, trying to control her anger while Charlie hurried to corral the sheep some distance from the men.

  One of the men took the lead and pulled his reins in sharply, galloping within inches of her. She fought jumping back, her heart beating against her ribs, her breathing unsteady. She would not let these brigands see that she was frightened of them or their actions. The others joined him, standing a ways off. Dirty, red-bearded, middle aged, the man regarded her with cold gray eyes—the leader of the group, she assumed. He looked like he would enjoy killing just for the sake of doing so, and she worried he might harm her sheep or her dog. Or her.

  “We are looking for some men who have escaped us who we believe may have come this way.” His accent sounded very much like Niall's—the same heavy Highland burr.

  “What men are these?” she asked, frowning up at him, not about to be intimidated, even though he and his men were intimidating. But she believed showing weakness would only get her into worse trouble.

  “Two Highlanders who have stolen from us.”

  Furious with these men when they had stolen from Niall and nearly killed him, she narrowed her eyes. “I have no knowledge of these men.” And she didn't. Niall didn't steal anything from anyone.

  Glancing at Anora’s cottage, the Highlander said, “Who resides there?”

  “My father and brothers and me.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “In the village.”

  “Banbh?”

  “Aye.”

  “You are here alone?” the man asked, brows raised, not believing her, she thought.

  “Nay,” she said, very sincerely.

  He frowned at her. “I believe you are by yourself, lassie.”

  That didn't bode well and a shiver shook her. “The field is full of sheep and my dog is here with me. And, too, here, you, and your four men are. How might you think I am alone?”

  The man cast her a tight smile. “You have quite a wit about you. You will come with me. I wish to inspect this cottage of yours.”

  “May I place my sheep back in their pen first?”

  “'Twill take too long.”

  “I will have my dog take them back. It will not take him long.” She would not leave her sheep out without her being with them to watch over them.

  Anora motioned for Charlie to return the sheep to their pen. She strode toward home, but the Highlander reached down to grab her arm, making her step away from his grasp.

  “Come, ride with me,” he said, his voice a command, sounding irritated that she would avoid his grasp.

  “I am afraid of horses. I do not wish to ride. I shall walk.”

  “You have naught to fear from my horse. He is extremely gentle. And it will take us too long for you to walk." He leaned over and grabbed for Anora’s arm again.

  Instinctively, she reached up with her crook, hooking it over his arm, and yanked as hard as she could, nearly unseating him from his horse.

  She had done it without thinking of the consequences as she would have reacted to any man who had attempted to accost her. One of his men rode up beside her and jerked her staff from her hands.

  Instantly, her skin chilled with concern now that she was mostly defenseless. Not that being armed with a staff had made her that invincible against Highland warriors. Her knife would not protect her, either.

  "'Tis a lassie with spirit," the leader said, and yanked her into his saddle.

  Anora screamed out in surprise.

  Ignoring her, he kicked his horse to a gallop.

  Terrified of the horse and the man holding her, she took in deep breaths to calm her racing heart, shutting
her eyes so she couldn't see the way the earth moved so quickly beneath them.

  When they reached her cottage, he lowered her to the ground—his sudden gentleness worrying her more than when he acted the barbarian. He dismounted.

  Feeling unsteady and shaken, and worried about what would happen next, she waited for Charlie to corral the last of the sheep in her pen, then hurried to lock the gate.

  Two of the men searched her home.

  When they exited the cottage, the scrawniest one said, “They are not here.”

  They. Niall and his friend? As much as she'd hoped the men didn't mean them, she feared they did.

  “Search the other buildings,” the leader said, motioning to the byre and cellar. When the men moved toward the other buildings, he led Anora into the cottage and looked about the main room for a moment. "Light a candle."

  She did, and he made her walk in front of him into her sleeping quarters.

  God's teeth, how was she to get out of this? She feared what he wished to do to her.

  "Set the candle on the table."

  She thought to unsheathe her knife. She was afraid he'd kill her before she could escape. She set the candle on the table.

  He immediately grabbed for her knife, quickly disarming her. She scowled at him. He smiled a little and considered the straw mattress on the floor, then the bed. “Where do you sleep?”

  “On the floor,” she said firmly, hoping she hid the way she was trembling.

  “And your father?”

  “In the bed.”

  “And your brothers?”

  “In the main room, but they have removed their mats for the day. I rose late to do my chores and neglected to put my bed away,” she said quickly.

  “Which do you prefer?”

  Not understanding his question, she frowned at the hulking brute, just as muscled as Niall, just as tall. “What do you mean?”

  “The floor or the bed?” He shut the door behind him with a clunk.

  Goose bumps trailed down her arms and with her blood rushing in her ears, Anora glared at him. “My father and brothers will kill you if you touch me.”

  She knew her words wouldn't deter the barbarian. But she didn't know what else to do or say. She spied the pitchfork on the floor, half-buried by Neill's makeshift straw bed.

  “We will be long gone before they return,” the man said, his gaze raking over her in a predatory way. He unfastened his belt and set his scabbard on the chair.

  Anora swallowed hard. “I thought you were in a hurry to search for these men who have stolen from you.”

  “I am. Only it willna hurt to take a respite from the task at hand to enjoy the company of an attractive lassie such as yourself before I move on.”

  “What about your men?”

  He removed his plaid. “What about them? Do you desire their company as well?” He shook his head. “We dinna have time for everyone to enjoy you as I shall.”

  That's not what she meant.

  Still wearing his tunic, he stepped forward to touch Anora’s face with his meaty, dirty hand, and she moved back. “The baron who manages this shire will not be happy that you have trifled with his subjects so.”

  “He will never know."

  Anora dove for the pitchfork, grabbing a handful of straw along with it in her haste. She brought the weapon up to defend herself. The man seized his sword, unsheathing it from its scabbard in a swift movement. He struck at Anora’s pitchfork with a mighty swing. Determined as she was and more prepared this time, Anora hung onto her pitchfork. She swung it back at the villain, hitting him squarely in the shoulder. The strike knocked him off balance—just a little. Only enough to make his face redden and his mouth turn into a scowl.

  He said something in Gaelic, cursing she suspected.

  “You will pay with your life for this, woman,” he growled.

  She would have anyway even if she hadn't fought him, she was certain.

  He hit her pitchfork with his sword again, knocking it out of the way. He grabbed it and pulled it from Anora’s hands. In anger, he threw it aside. No longer armed, she ran for the door. After pulling it open, she dashed into the main room, and headed for the front door. She hoped to heaven she could get away from him when she hadn't been able to escape Niall yesterday.

  She knew though, as soon as she ran outside and the other men saw her, they'd catch her if this one didn't. She didn't stand a chance against so many.

  She snatched at the door handle, but he caught her arm, and jerked her aside. “I have never heard of a sheepherder keeping a pitchfork in his sleeping chamber. I will have my way with you as I intended. And if you make it worth my while, I might even allow you to live.”

  When he pulled Anora toward the small room, she hit him in the eye with her fist. She wouldn't make it easy on him.

  He twisted her arm behind her back hard. She screamed out in pain and tried to jerk free.

  The front door creaked open. Before she could see who it was, her attacker turned to look. His face lost all its color.

  Niall. Quickly, she stomped on the man’s foot. He lost his hold on her, and she ran into the other room. After slamming the door behind her, she grabbed the pitchfork again, and waited a moment. The two men slashed at each other with their swords in the main room. The clanging of metal filled the air.

  Her heart thumped hard. What of the other men? She couldn't let Niall fend for himself against all of them. And he was sorely wounded already.

  “Oh, Niall,” Anora said, swinging the door open.

  With her pitchfork readied as Niall forced the man back toward her bedroom—right where she was standing with her pitchfork ready. But she was unsure as to how she could help. Niall thrust at the man again. Taking a couple of steps back to avoiding being stabbed, he suddenly stopped when he felt the prongs of her pitchfork pricking his back. Without a place for him to maneuver, he couldn't react fast enough to fight Niall who surged forward, his sword poised to kill the man.

  Niall made one final thrust, the sword sinking into the man's chest. The villain sank to the floor.

  Her breath catching in her throat and her hands shaky—just as her legs were, Anora stared at the man lying on her floor. She looked up at Niall, her skin suddenly chilled. “What of the others? They are in the byre and the cellar.”

  “No longer.” He pulled her against his body with his free arm and hugged her soundly.

  “You did not kill them, too, did you?” How could he have managed? One man against that many?

  “They would have killed me had I no' done the deed to them first.”

  “How were you able to kill all of them?”

  “I am about the best swordsman there is, lass. I was lucky to kill the two who were drinking of your mead in your cellar, then took care of the two in the byre who had curled up to take a nap in the hay while the other was busy with you.”

  Her whole body chilled with the disagreeable notion. “Oh, Niall. I thought you had gone for good.”

  “I was looking for Gunnolf, to see if I could learn where he had gone. I found no sign of him. I hadna thought these men would search here since they hadna before now. I believed they'd left the area completely. You are all right, lass?"

  "Oh, aye, but if it had not been for you…" She took a shuddering breath and fought the tears welling in her eyes. “They will kill us both now.”

  He shook his head, and then slipped her sgian dubh out of his boot. “Keep this with you. I will take the bodies south and stage a battle of epic proportions, leaving their horses to graze in the heather.”

  Unable to stand any longer, Anora pulled away from Niall and sat down hard on her chair. A million thoughts were rushing through her mind. A million what-ifs as she tried to sort out ways in which they could get caught up in this.

  Niall walked into the other room and reached down to take coins from the brigand's sporran still tied to his belt lying on the floor. She frowned. “You cannot steal his silver.”

  “He willna
be able to spend it where he is going. Besides, 'tis blood money paid by whoever wants to locate the French lass. The silver is yours to do with as you wish.”

  “He would have killed me,” Anora said, as she stared at the man. "Wait, he is looking for her also?"

  "Aye," Niall said, studying her closely. "He learned Gunnolf and I were making inquiries as to the lass's whereabouts. We hadna thought a fellow Highlander would be working for the French count. Her uncle believes this count wishes her hand in marriage and once he has claimed her title, her lands, and an heir, he willna need the lass any longer. Once the count learned you lived, he sent negotiators to your… I mean, her uncle to work out an agreement, but her uncle said no. The man will stop at naught to have you returned to France before your uncle can see to your safety."

  But what if Niall and his family worked for this man instead?

  “Come, help me move him. We must get rid of him quickly before anyone comes back to investigate,” Niall said, reminding her of the more current problem they had at the moment.

  “The rest of his men went to Banbh. What if they return?” she asked, terrified the others would discover she had any part in this. But then she realized she could not leave her sheep or her cottage.

  “All they will find is a shepherdess here still tending her sheep.”

  “Oh, Niall, I am afraid."

  He cupped her cheek and looked down into her face with concern and pride. "Is there anywhere else you could go with your sheep? A pasture where the men would not find you?"

  "Nay, I will stay here. If I were to go to Matthew's home in Banbh, I could run into the rest of their men. There is no pasture land that would hide me from these men. You are right. The only way to handle this is for me to pretend naught has happened. I am used to telling stories."

  Still, he didn't budge from where he stood. "Lass…"

  She shook her head. "'Tis the only way, Niall. As long as they are not found dead here, well, even if they were, they would know I had not killed all these men. But then they might stay to see if you returned. You must go."

  “I will be gone only for a while.” Wincing, Niall pulled the man from the room.

  Anora jumped up to help him. “Are you still hurting?”