Highlander's Touch (2 page)

Ewan gripped the thighs of the woman over his mouth and licked her into a climax. A feral growl wrenched from his throat as his own release rippled through him—but the sounds from his mouth were drowned out by the shouts from the corridor just outside the room.

The door opened, but Ewan couldn’t see who it was around the wench’s thighs.

“Sir, the MacDonalds have been spotted.”

“Hell,” he growled. Playtime was most definitely over.

Ewan gently tossed his playmates aside. He climbed from the bed to wash his face in the basin then donned his weapons, before tossing a few coins onto the mattress. “I’ll return, dinna fash. In the meantime,
amuse
yourselves.”

If there was one thing he loved more than fucking women—it was adventure and battle. The rush that fueled his blood when danger was in sight was addictive. Ewan wasn’t afraid of dying. In fact, he courted death at every turn. So far, the dark one had shunned him.

He grinned as he jogged down the tavern stairs, the sound of feminine laughs and moans following him. With a mischievous grin and a slight pang that he couldn’t join in the festivities he walked out into the sun. Bounding onto his horse, he could already feel his blood burning with the need to swing his sword.

“Onward,” he bellowed. “The devil waits for no man!”

Ewan rode swiftly from the tavern, his warriors in his wake.

A shrill whistle pierced the air followed by a bellow that had Shona ducking in fear. All of the herbs she’d gathered in her basket tumbled to the forest floor in a cascade of green and brown.

What in bloody hell was that?

A warning of some type? Tucked back in the woods a safe distance from the village, the only people who could be making such a racket would not be of the innocent type. She glanced around, though the sun was out and bright, with the trees full and green with spring vibrancy, it was hard to see anything. Birds flew out of their perches overhead, disturbed by the sudden interruption of the peaceful wood.

“Idiots,” she murmured in regards to whoever was scaring away the wildlife. “How dare they disturb my forest friends?”

Sadly, they were the only friends she had—the birds, squirrels, rabbits, deer and other woodland creatures.

She set down her basket and gathered up her herbs, keeping her eyes wide for any movement—even if it were just a little mouse. The ground rumbled around her and another warning call split the tranquility of the forest.

Devil’s toes, but she’d best hide. Though she wasn’t completely visible as she foraged in the wood, she was not completely hidden, either. The trees and brambles were thick, but her red hair stuck out like a flag to any who would wish her harm. Though she could probably fight off a single, weak attacker, she’d not be able to get past more than that—and on foot. She had no horse, but even if she did, it had been such a lovely day, she’d been looking forward to a nice walk. The Highlands had gotten nothing but rain the past week. Who knew when the summer storms would pick up again?

Thank the saints she’d not decided to search out daisies in the clearing beyond where she crouched now; else whomever was tromping through her forest would have had a clear view of her.

Shona pulled her
arisaid
over her head to cover her hair, and listened for the sounds of running feet. Panic tried to worm its way inside her, but she held it at bay. There were more important things to concentrate on, such as whether or not she could hear the approach of those in the woods. The earth vibrated beneath her. Standing, she cocked her head to listen. The sounds of men’s shouts carried on the wind from somewhere to her right. Not too loud, which meant they weren’t as close as she originally thought. To her dismay, there was most assuredly more than one—more like a dozen at least. Not good odds for her.

Closing her eyes she prayed the noise would go away, that perhaps they would take their displeasure elsewhere, but the sounds did not dissipate and they did not fade. If anything, they seemed to grow closer. The birds continued to fly from their perches in the trees, and, overhead, a crow squawked its irritation.

Animals scurried in fear; the noises they made as they trampled over the forest floor only muffled the noise of the intruders. Shona couldn’t decipher which was friend and which was foe.

It didn’t matter. At this rate, they’d be on top of her before she had a chance to escape them if she didn’t get moving. The road through the forest was a brisk three-minute walk from where she stood, and no trouble had come to it in months. This far into the forest, she rarely encountered anyone. ’Twas the reason her Rory had chosen it.

Though, she supposed after what had happened to Rory, she should have been more wary.

Shona turned to count the number of arrows in her quiver—six. She was a good shot. Rory had seen to it. But six wasn’t nearly enough arrows to take out the number of warriors she was certain she heard.

Lord how she missed Rory. He’d sheltered her for years. And then one day—he’d simply disappeared. She feared him dead, for it had been at least two years now since he’d left to purchase a mule and not returned.

The sounds of the disgruntled men grew closer still, and her hands started to shake. She held tight to her basket, not wanting to drop it and give them any reason to come searching for her. Living alone in her isolated cottage, trouble was the last thing she needed.

“Nettles,” she grumbled her preference mild expletive.

She tucked her basket into the crook of her elbow, and gathered up her skirts in her hands so the hem didn’t tangle with her feet.

If her errand had to be cut short, at least she wouldn’t go home empty-handed. She needed these herbs for the latest tincture she was working on. Despite her home being isolated, there were a few who knew of her existence—namely the healers from the surrounding villages. They often came to her for her powders, tinctures and ointments. Shona had a gift that no one seemed able to duplicate.

She stilled her walking to listen to the sounds of the forest. At least for now, the intruders were still a safe distance away. Well, not
exactly
safe. She slipped into a narrow passage of rocks that lead down a hill, using the natural cover to check for any scouts hiding up or behind any of the trees. She saw nothing, but the shouting seemed to grow louder with every passing second.

She sent up a prayer that she crossed no one. Though deep in the wood
she
rarely came across anyone, Castle Gealach, and Scotland itself, often had unfriendly visitors. Most of them raiders or rival clans trying to pillage and destroy. Shona wanted no part of that.

Not too far from the road now. She slipped from the rocks and continued. She stepped over fallen branches making sure to land softly on patches of moss and grass that would make little or no sound.

The scents of the forest and the herbs in her basket normally calmed her, and on most days, she enjoyed being alone. She liked working with plants. She liked knowing that she could help someone, even if they never met. But she did miss Rory. His company had been sweet, he’d taught her many things, and he’d been her protector since she first arrived in the area. There were some days when the cottage and surrounding wood seemed too quiet.

Now he was gone. Whether he’d left her, befallen some awful accident, or met a foe upon the road, she had no idea—a fact that pained her immeasurably. She’d searched the forest for days, weeks, months on end with no sign. ’Twas as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

She knew little of his past and nothing of any family he might have had, and so she could not contact them to find out if he were there, or to inform them she believed something had happened. Rory had not wished to speak of his family. Which served her fine. She did not remember her own.

Shona stepped lightly through the forest, pausing beside trees every few feet to check for sounds. Angry shouts and horses whinnying sent a shiver over her spine. They were close—or possibly she’d been walking right toward them, so deep in thought had she been.

Silencing a frustrated groan that itched to leave her throat, she studied her surroundings, spying the road up ahead. Her entire body trembled. She was extremely anxious to get home. To get away from whoever was marching through the forest.

She had to get home. Had to.

Not that there would be anyone to answer to. With Rory gone and no family to turn to, she’d been forced to remain alone these past two years. She’d made a good go of it so far. And having the freedom of answering only to herself was kind of nice. Though loneliness often crept in, she was good at pushing it away. Mayhap she could have begged the help of Laird Grant and his lady wife at Castle Gealach, but… Shona wasn’t one to beg. She didn’t want to serve anyone within the castle, nor be beholden to a master.

She’d have to fend for herself. Most of the time. Rory had taught her a lot since they’d met. He was an outcast warrior from a neighboring clan, waiting out the days until he could approach Laird Grant about joining his clan army. But that day had never come.

Shona shivered and shook her head. Nay, she could not go to the castle. Ever.

A bellow, so close it could have been beside her, startled Shona. She dropped to the ground in a crouch, her heart pounding out of her chest, a whimper on her lips.

More roars ensued, followed by metal clanging and the thunder of a many hooves.

God’s teeth, they sounded as though they were practically on top of her. She waited for the sharp pain of the horse’s hooves crashing over her head.

WHERE in bloody hell were they?

Ewan gripped the reins of his horse, Bhaltair, and turned him in a circle. A dozen warriors rode with him through the wood, trying to ferret out the MacDonalds.
Traitorous bastards
. He’d counted at least nine of them getting away.

Though he’d seen four McDonalds on horseback, the rest were on foot, and they couldn’t have outrun Ewan. They were hiding. Laying low.

Well, not for long.

“Come on out and face us like men, ye limp-cocks!” Ewan shouted, raising his sword in the air, gaining a few laughs from his men.

The MacDonalds had been pulling these raids for a week now, and while Ewan and his men had picked off the few who’d straggled behind, the rest of them had taken flight.

A fact that only enflamed his anger. For the MacDonalds to have been able to storm onto the lands so efficiently—they had to be hiding somewhere in the woods. But he and his men had scoured the area and found nothing—both over the past few days and just now when the bastards had been spotted.

Ewan hated to admit that the MacDonalds might have the upper hand. Nay, he refused to believe it. For as long as they’d been trying, the bloody jackanapes had not been able to win more than a mere skirmish. The Grants had outfought them in all other regards. They’d not been able to succeed in capturing Castle Gealach, nor any part of the lands each and every time they’d tried. But they had succeeded in terrorizing the people and getting away. The few they’d been able to capture were close-mouthed about their comrades—and currently knocked out cold and tied to a tree with three guards standing watch.

“Will ye make us wait all day for a fight, ye cowards?” Ewan cried out once more.

There was no answering call, but to his right he thought he heard something scurrying around. Ewan swung Bhaltair to the right and pointed his sword into the trees.