Highland Fire

  “Aye.” Megan agreed, patting the bag that dangled from her saddle. “We have caught more quail and dove in the past hour than I often see in a day.”

  As they urged their mounts across a stretch of flat meadowland ringed by gently rising forests, Megan gave a quick glance over her shoulder. “Keep a close watch out for the MacDougals. Though this is open land, they have long considered it theirs. They will be spoiling for a fight if they find us stalking their deer.”

  So they were poachers, like him. Kieran kept the lass in his line of vision. From this distance he saw that she rode like a man, with her gown hiked up to reveal tanned, shapely limbs. Her gown was a shimmering shade of amber that caught the sun’s rays. The shirred bodice hugged her high firm breasts and tiny waist. Her mane of wheat-colored hair danced against her shoulders.

  Jamie touched the sword at his waist. “If it is a fight the MacDougals want, I will be more than happy to oblige.”

  Megan’s laughter rippled on the breeze. “Brice was right. Your blood runs as hot as mine at the thought of battle.”

  As he watched from his place of concealment, Kieran’s eyes narrowed at the woman’s laughter. How long had it been since he had heard such a wondrous sound. For one brief moment it stirred something in his heart that he had thought long dead. He had feared that a year in Fleet Prison had destroyed everything human in him.

  Jamie gave a sound of disgust. “Someone has to be prepared to fight. Your sister has poor Brice so besotted, he would rather lie by the fire and bounce his bairns on his knee than tend to the work of a warrior.”

  “Aye. But you should be grateful that the old ones are willing to step back and give us the chance to take our rightful places.”

  “Old? Brice?” Jamie threw back his head and roared. “If Brice ever heard you say that, he would wring your pretty little neck.”

  “You know what I mean.” Megan shot Jamie a look. “Something terrible happens to people when they fall in love. Look at Brice and Meredith. They have turned into complacent married people. And look at what Brenna has done to Morgan Grey. He spent the entire fortnight at our castle hovering around her like a clucking hen.”

  “Aye.” Jamie met her frown with one of his own. “It fair tears my heart out to see a warrior like Brice Campbell wiping spittle from a wee bairn’s chin and talking about peace with the enemy.”

  Megan could not help laughing at Jamie’s apt description. Dear Jamie. She understood his frustration. And he was the only one who understood hers. She glanced at the proud man beside her and tried to picture the lad she had met years before. Jamie had been but a slender lad, all elbows and knees, with a shock of red hair that had rivaled the sun. Now, scant years later, his shoulders were wider than a broadsword, his back and arms rippling with the muscles of a warrior. His pale skin had turned to bronze, and his red hair had darkened to a rich, warm auburn. Already the Highland lasses fluttered their lashes when he rode past their villages, and they vied for his attention. Thankfully, he had not yet noticed. Or at least had given no indication that he had. But one day soon he would fall into love’s silken web like all the others. Then she would be the only sensible one…

  “Look.” Megan leaned from the saddle and touched Jamie’s arm. “In those trees.”

  Both of them caught sight of the antlers disappearing among the foliage.

  “I bet you a sovereign that I bring him down before you,” Megan called, sliding from the saddle and dropping the reins.

  Before Jamie could react she was across the meadow and following the buck into the forest. He leaped to the ground and ran after her.

  As the two disappeared, Kieran turned to where their horses stood grazing. A slow smile touched his lips as he stepped from the forest and moved cautiously toward the animals. But before he could take up the reins, he heard the thunder of hoofbeats. At the far side of the meadow rode a line of armed men. Leaving the horses, Kieran slipped into the cover of the forest.

  “The herd has slipped away,” Megan concluded.

  “We could follow them,” Jamie eagerly suggested.

  “Aye. And end up torn by brambles and halfway up the mountain when daylight fades.”

  “We have slept under the stars before.”

  “That we have. But I much prefer my own bed, Jamie. Besides, our bags are already swollen with game. I have had enough of hunting.”

  “Do not tell me you are turning into a weak-kneed female.”

  “You know me better,” she said, laughing.

  Megan pushed her way through the underbrush until she stepped into the brilliant sunshine of the meadow. Instantly her smile was wiped from her face.

  “God in heaven. Jamie. Look.”

  He turned to where she pointed. The riders had already spotted their horses and were racing toward them.

  Megan and Jamie drew their swords and waited for the first attack. Without their horses, they were at a distinct disadvantage. What was worse, they were vastly outnumbered.

  “I count at least a dozen of them,” Jamie said under his breath.

  “Aye. That leaves eight for me,” Megan said, planting her feet squarely. “And four for you, my lad.”

  From his position in the forest, Kieran heard the low rumble of laughter before the two bravely faced their attackers.

  Fools, he thought. What chance did a lad and a lass have against a dozen men? They would surely be dead before half the men had even raised a sword. Yet, he reminded himself, the fight was not his. And even if he wanted to go to their aid, he had no weapon.

  He intended to turn away and make his escape before anyone had time to discover him, but found he could not. As he watched from the cover of the forest, his curiosity slowly turned to surprise. The two were skilled warriors.

  Though he watched both with admiration, it was the woman who held his attention. She danced, parried and thrust until the first attacker found himself unseated from the saddle and backed up to a tree. A second attacker soon joined the first, but the lass bested them both and sent them to their knees.

  She fought with dirk and sword, and though her attackers towered over her, she refused to back away.

  “Are these the MacDougals?” Jamie asked as several more of the horsemen closed in for an attack.

  “Nay. These are not Scotsmen. They are bloody English.”

  At Megan’s words, Kieran’s eyes widened. He had thought the shabby men to be Highlanders, but as he studied them, realization dawned. The long hand of English justice reached even beyond its own borders. They were here to bring him and Colin to Fleet Prison.

  He thought of Colin, alone and wounded. If he did not soon return to tend him, the lad would surely perish. For Colin’s sake, he yearned to escape, but it was not in his nature to run from a fight. Especially knowing that these two innocents were being attacked because of him.

  Though they fought with great skill, it was apparent that the two would soon be overwhelmed by the sheer number of their attackers.

  Without a thought to his own safety, he stepped from the forest. Bending, he retrieved a sword from the hand of one of the Englishmen.

  From the corner of her eye, Megan saw the stranger join in the fray. When she realized that he was standing with them against the attackers, she returned her attention to the task at hand.

  The fight had now become a deadly game of skill.

  “Behind you, lass.”

  At Kieran’s words, Megan turned and found herself facing another swordsman. With quick movements she drove him back, then dodged his thrust. By the time she had disposed of him, two more faced her. Backing up, she found herself pressed against the stranger, who was fighting to hold off two other swordsmen.

  “Good work, lass,” Kieran called as she sent her opponent to the ground.

  There was no time to reply. The swordsmen were everywhere, some still on horseback, others leaping to the ground to aid their fallen comrades.

  Suddenly Jamie saw a man leap from the forest and race toward Megan.
In the blink of an eye he knew that this man was not one of the English, but Megan’s cousin Malcolm, and he was headed toward her with serious intent. Jamie shouted a warning, then turned to his own battle.

  “Malcolm! You traitor!” Megan felt the pain, sharp and swift, as her opponent’s sword pierced her shoulder. That only renewed her efforts. She felt her breath coming faster as she drove her attacker back with quick thrusts. Beside her Jamie fought gamely to hold off two swordsmen.

  Megan watched in horror as Jamie lunged forward just as one of the attackers raised his weapon. The impact plunged the blade into Jamie’s chest, stilling his words. With a gasp, Jamie dropped to his knees in the heather. Both of his hands closed around the hilt of the sword. But he had not the strength to pull it free. An ever-widening river of blood stained his tunic and formed a pool among the blossoms.

  “You have killed him! God in heaven. You have killed him.”

  Had not Brice warned her about leaping into battle? Jamie’s blood was upon her hands. With tears of rage blurring her vision, Megan sprang at Jamie’s attacker, her sword raised.

  Kieran was stunned by the lass’s desperate struggle. Could he do less than this girl? If it cost them all their lives, they had to fight on until there was no breath left to draw.

  He saw the Scotsman come up behind her. But before he could shout a warning, Kieran found himself cornered. With a skill born of desperation he fought off his attackers. Colin was depending upon him. He was fighting not only for his own life, but for that of his brother. He had come too far to be defeated by a handful of English.

  Now only three attackers remained. Seeing the fate of the others, they fell back and disappeared into the forest. The sounds of battle stilled, and the land became strangely silent.

  Kieran turned toward the girl, who lay beside her fallen comrade.

  Kieran knelt beside her and probed her wounds. She was bleeding from several cuts. Worse, she had sustained a terrible blow to the head.

  Gingerly touching the swollen mass at the base of her skull, Kieran whispered, “Can you hear me, lass?”

  She lay as still as death. Kieran touched a hand to her throat and felt the pulse. It was faint, feeble, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

  He turned to where the lad lay, moaning softly.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Jamie stared beyond the stranger at the still form of Megan. “Does she live?”

  “Aye. Barely.”

  “Praise heaven. You must save her,” Jamie whispered urgently. “I was sworn to see to her safety, and I have failed her.”

  “You cannot blame yourself. You fought bravely.”

  “It was not enough. You must save her life.”

  “First I must rid you of this knife.” With quick movements Kieran pulled the dirk from Jamie’s chest and felt a wave of relief that the wound was not mortal. From the back of Jamie’s saddle he removed a flagon and poured a small amount of the liquid from the flagon over the raw flesh. Ignoring Jamie’s hiss of pain, he tore strips from his own shirt and bound the wound. Then he removed a cloak from Jamie’s saddle and wrapped the lad carefully.

  “The wound is clean. With rest, you should be able to sit your horse by morning.”

  He saw that the lad was fading quickly. Within minutes he would surely be beyond thought.

  “The lady. You must see to her.”

  Kieran lifted his hands in frustration. “I am a stranger passing through your land. I have nowhere to take the lass.”

  Jamie shook his head. “You do not understand. The lady is of noble birth. Her life must be saved at all cost. You cannot leave her here. There was one among the attackers who is her sworn enemy. He would end her life.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Stay with her. See to her.” Jamie’s eyes were bleak. “I have failed my first task as the lady’s man-at-arms. Without Megan’s safety, my life is worth nothing.” His hand clutched Kieran’s sleeve. “I beg you. Do not leave the Lady Megan here to die.”

  Kieran saw the fierce light in the lad’s eyes before his lids fluttered, then closed.

  He pressed his lips close to the lad’s ear. “Who are her people? Where is her home?”

  Jamie had lapsed into unconsciousness.

  With a muttered oath, Kieran gathered the weapons of the fallen soldiers. They were his now.

  He studied the still figure of the girl. Except for the faint rise and fall of her chest, she made no movement.

  Lifting the lass in his arms, he pulled himself into the saddle of one horse and caught up the reins of a second horse.

  There was no time to tarry. Colin had been alone too long.

  As the horses picked their way through the forest, his mind raced. What cruel game was fate playing? He had already given his word to Colin that he would take him safely home. And now he was saddled with this helpless female, as well. A female who was a complete mystery to him.

  Chapter Two

  M egan felt pain as sharp as the blade of a knife.

  So this was what it felt like to die. Aye, she must be near death’s door. It seemed only right that she sacrifice her life. Jamie was dead, and it was her fault. She must now die also.

  Jamie. She saw his dear face, heard his joyous laughter ring through her mind. Jamie. Rogue. Tease. Brother. Friend. She felt a sudden shaft of pain around her heart. Jamie gone. It was too much to bear. But even as she mourned the loss of him, she felt his image fading from her mind. It was replaced by a physical pain. And then, as the pain grew, she knew another wave of fear. It was not death she feared, but the pain of dying. The pain was everywhere, exploding through her. She tried to absorb it, to ignore it, but it would not let her be. It was there, in her shoulder, her arm, her head. Especially her head. Surely her skull had been split.

  She was hot, so hot. And her limbs were too heavy to move. Even her eyelids were heavy. It was too great an effort to open her eyes.

  “Easy, lass.”

  A deep, masculine voice washed over her. Megan did not recognize it, and yet she knew she had heard those deep tones before.

  Someone touched her. She stiffened, determined to resist. But she could not. And then the fear subsided. It was the angels. She felt the angels come for her. And though she had always thought she would fight against dying, she found herself welcoming their tender touch. Their firm hands reached out for her. She was floating, then drifting. They lifted her as lovingly as if she were a wee bairn. Their strong arms cradled her in a warm cocoon. She felt a heart beating. Hers? It must be. Angels had no hearts. It was strangely comforting to hear that steady, even heartbeat. Perhaps it was her last.

  Suddenly she breathed in the familiar musky scent that she had always associated with her father. She felt his arms, strong, muscled, cradling her against his massive chest. She felt his cloak, rough and scratchy against her cheek. It smelled faintly of horses, and of the fields. Father. Somehow the angels had managed to bring him along to welcome her. A soft smile touched her lips, and she sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. The pain was forgotten now. She was with the angels. And Father. She was at peace.

  Kieran stared down at the lass in his arms. Blood matted her hair, and her skin was so pale he could see the blue veins just below the surface. She appeared tiny and fragile and as helpless as a wounded bird. Yet he knew her looks were deceiving. He had seen her face her enemy with fire in her eyes.

  A woman of noble birth, the lad had said. Kieran had no reason to disbelieve him. Still, he had never known a highborn woman who could fight like a man.

  He thought of his mother, a noble Englishwoman, accustomed to the luxuries of life at court. Though she had given up much out of love for her Irish husband, Kieran could not picture that gentle woman wielding a sword against invaders.

  He heard the lass sigh and saw the slight smile that curved her lips. Where had her mind taken her? He hoped it was a kinder place than the bloody one she had just left. Even if the pain was forgott
en for only a few minutes, it was a blessing. For when she returned to the land of the living, the pain of her head wound would not be easily ignored.

  He was concerned about all her wounds, but especially the one to her head. It was bad. He had seen men die of lesser wounds. But the lass was a fighter. Somehow, he felt, she would not go willingly into that other world. He drew her close against his chest and wrapped his arms around her to ward off the chill air and nudged his mount into a trot.

  As they made their way through the forested countryside, Kieran studied the occasional castle or manor house in the distance, wondering which one belonged to the woman in his arms. Because he had spent so much time in Fleet, forbidden to speak, he found himself needing to talk. The girl could not hear him, but it made no difference. The freedom to speak was too precious.

  “Your people will soon miss you, lass. There will be concern about you in your household, and then worry. Mayhap they will send out soldiers in search of you and your man-at-arms.”

  Kieran glanced at the woman who rested so easily in his embrace. “I would be pleased to give up my burden to those who would care for you.” It was a lie, he knew. At the moment she was not a burden. In fact, holding her in his arms was an altogether pleasant experience. More pleasant than he cared to admit to himself. How long had it been since he had held a woman close to his heart? “But I cannot afford to reveal myself. There are those who care about nothing except returning me to an English prison and an English justice. And if they harm you in the process, they will shed no tears. So, my lady, though I would wish your people good fortune in locating you, I fear that throughout the journey I must keep to the shelter of the forest. Any who challenge me will have to answer to my sword.”

  The figure in his arms sighed and burrowed closer to his chest. A thrill of pleasure shot along his spine and he fought to ignore it. She was, after all, unconscious and unaware of what she was doing to him. But there was no denying that she was a rare beauty, and just holding her in his arms made him feel truly free. He knew that she had not heard his words, but it gave him an odd sense of independence to talk to her.