Finding My Highlander (3 page)

Andra lowered herself beside the injured man. She averted her eyes from his thickly muscled and ravaged torso, glanced quickly over his private parts, and set to washing off the caked mess from his legs. She uncovered a deep wound in his right thigh that needed stitching. No bone showed through; that must be a good sign.

What do you know about such horrendous wounds, you dolt! Keep your eyes on your job and clean away the muck.

She wanted to speak with them, but didn’t know how to begin. If she even looked at Struan, he glowered at her. Completely focused on his brother, Kendrick more or less ignored her, so she concentrated on cleansing and assessing the leg wounds. Her ministrations revealed a few, less-serious slashes across Lorne’s calf. On inspection, she felt certain they could bind them without stitches. When she looked up, the men had begun cleaning a large gash along his ribs. It looked gruesome, and her stomach lurched. It took a moment to steady her breathing. Kendrick poured whisky over the wounds and Struan started to suture, but the patient no longer responded. His chest rose and fell in a halting fashion, and yet he did not moan or move.

The scent of strong whisky burned her nose, mingling with the smell of blood and filth. She breathed shallowly, repressing a gag. “His leg will also need stitching.”

With a nod of his head Struan huffed, “There is another needle and gut, just be certain you clean the wound.”

They expected her to suture.
“Oh! I have never sutured a wound. I’m certain I would make a mess of it. But I’ll clean it thoroughly for you.”

Struan harrumphed, grunted, and snarled, “What good was your
first aid train’en
then, if you cannae even stitch a wound?”

A well of annoying sounds and insulting comments, Struan drew out the words as if scum coated his tongue. Even so, his hand remained steady as he expertly stitched Lorne’s flayed flesh. Obviously, these men had considerable experience with wounds of this nature. Andra ignored his baiting and continued to clean Lorne’s legs but watched surreptitiously, thinking she might need to acquire that skill.

Searching through her bag, she found a tube of antibiotic cream. Her hand fisted over the tube. The ointment couldn’t hurt and might help, but how could she conceal it and use it at the same time? She must not allow them to examine the tube closely, or they’d think she was a witch. A burning fire under her feet would be her reward, especially if they found the stamped expiration date. “Damn!” she hissed.

Struan snapped his head up, auburn hair curled wildly around his face, his brow furrowed as he growled, “What is that you say, wench?”

She ignored Struan and focused on Kendrick. Handsome, rugged, all virile male, just glancing at him made her weak in the knees. His dark-blond hair fell across a bronzed, well-proportioned face with a straight nose and full lips. A small cleft in his chin lent him a hint of boyish charm. Large, powerful yet gentle hands examined his brother’s neck, shoulders, arms, and torso—for bone fractures, she assumed.

Watching him, she found herself wanting to feel those hands on her.
Whoa, from where did that thought come?
She needed to examine her sanity and rein in her wild imagination.

Her voice trembled when she spoke, “Kendrick, will you permit me to use some healing ointment on the bandages before we bind his wounds? I will use it on my own cuts and scratches. It is quite safe and may help prevent infection.”

Kendrick studied her with focused concentration that shot to her core; it felt as though he reached to her very soul. “You’ll need a few stitches on your head as well. Let me tend to them and then you may add your ointments.”

Andra sat as still as possible while Kendrick applied a few stitches along her hairline. The pain made her dizzy and nauseous. At least the heat of his presence offered some small distraction, though not enough to prevent a few tears or repress her hisses as the needle pierced her skin.

As soon as he finished, she opened the tube inside the bag and wiped ointment on her finger. She applied it to her forehead laceration first. Then with her back to the men, she squeezed out a generous portion on strips of linen and placed them over Lorne’s wounds while Struan bound each one.

Andra and Struan silently switched places when he moved to stitch the thigh. She retrieved her thick, cotton washcloth, rinsed it clean and wiped away the matted blood and dirt from Lorne’s face and head. Kendrick glanced with interest at the washcloth but said nothing to her.

“This long cut along Lorne’s temple may require a few stitches,” she said. The man shook violently under her hands, and his teeth chattered loudly. “We must finish quickly and warm him or our efforts will have been wasted.”

Kendrick glared at her as though he wanted to smack her for stating the obvious. He swallowed hard, nodded, and abruptly went to start a fire in a stone circle farther back in the cave while Struan finished tending to Lorne. Someone had placed straw pallets near the fire pit.

Once he completed the stitching and binding, Struan bent to lift Lorne. Placing her hand on his thickly muscled arm Andra stopped him. “Wait, if you and Kendrick each lift one end of the plaid, I’ll slip my hands underneath to support his back, and we can move him more safely to the pallet.”

“I will assist you.” Rabbie said. Intently focused on Lorne and the other two men, Andra had not heard Rabbie return.

Struan shot her an angry scowl, his muscled arm tensed under her hand, but Kendrick intervened. “‘Tis good advice.”

They lifted Lorne in his plaid and laid him on a pallet next to the now-glowing fire. Rabbie placed several blankets and a fur covering over Lorne’s quaking body. Andra brushed her hand across the injured man’s forehead. He was hotter than fire and shaking so severely she thought he might bite through his tongue.

“Where’s my bag?” As if this whole situation hadn’t panicked her enough, the fear that he might not survive clutched at her chest. Kendrick brought her bag without question or comment, just another penetrating stare.

Her hand wrapped around her trusty bottles of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, a runner’s go-to for relief from aches and pains. She always carried a bottle of each everywhere she went. Keeping the label covered she tipped four acetaminophen and two ibuprofen tablets into her hand and asked for a cup of water.

She tossed three tablets down her own throat, lifted Lorne’s head onto her lap, tilted his head back, opened his mouth, suppressed his tongue, and tossed the other pills into him. “Kendrick, please help me administer these tablets. If you rub his throat while I dribble in water, we may be able to induce a swallow reflex.”

“What’s that you’re giving him?” Struan snarled.

“It’s medicine to help reduce fever and head pain. As you saw, I took a few myself. They may help and couldn’t hurt him.” His suspicious tone was making her nervous.

Finally, Lorne choked and swallowed the pills. Andra sat back with a sigh while continuing to press a cold compress to his forehead. He shook so violently she could have sworn the bones in her own hands rattled as she held his head.

Take slow, calming breaths
. It seemed she constantly needed to remind herself to breathe. A damp sheen of sweat covered her forehead even though the temperature had dropped precipitously. She felt clammy, and her head pounded ferociously. It was imperative they do something to get Lorne’s body temperature under control.

Andra stood and faced three, fierce Highlanders. She knew what had to be done, but cringed with worry for her safety should she even suggest it. “Listen to me, he is freezing, yet burns with fever.” Three sets of startled brows rose at her tone and demand for attention but she rattled on. “His condition is very grave, and it’s imperative that we stabilize his body temperature. I have a suggestion which may help,”

She paused to take a deep breath, exhaled and rushed on. “I need a solemn oath from each of you,” her eyes drilled each man, “on your honor as gentlemen, give me your solemn vow, your promise that you will not harm, nor molest me in any manner.” Unflinchingly, she searched each face.

All three mouths dropped open with outraged sputtering; Kendrick spoke first and none too happily. “Och, Andra, why do you question our honor, we are Highland warriors. We dinnae molest defenseless women.”

Struan interjected. “Just like a bloody Cameron to accuse us of the worst behavior while ‘tis your clan that harbors the most despicable heathens on God’s earth.”

Exasperated with Struan’s constant grumbling she spun on him. “My clan? I have already told you, I have no clan. I belong to no clan!” Andra clutched and unclutched her hands. The man had trod on her last nerve. She found herself shouting—again.

“Oh, you’re being ridiculous.” She stomped her foot in frustration, a petulant and completely uncharacteristic behavior, as her normally calm, controlled demeanor cracked in frustration.

“Just give me your word of honor, if you possess such a thing.” Under the circumstances, she should be quaking in her boots, but Andra stood firm. She stared down these massively muscled men capable of inflicting great harm with the flick of a wrist. Though she couldn’t begin to say why, she felt no harm would come to her from them.

Their faces expressed offense, but she knew with certainty not all Highlanders could profess honorable behavior. Fists bunched at her hips, she stared at them, refusing to drop her eyes even when Struan curled his burly arms over his thick chest and grumbled something unintelligible while scowling at her as if he would just as soon toss her on the fire.

“You offend us grievously if you think we would harm any woman, especially one who has aided our own. You have my word, madam, no man will harm you in any manner.” Kendrick’s voice vibrated with an edge of anger. The tallest of the bunch, he stood at least six-foot five, and the rest of them weren’t much shorter. Though not petite, Andra felt diminutive next to any one of them. Kendrick, however, was the most imposing man she’d ever laid eyes on in both physique and intensity. He intrigued her.

His eyes flashed a deep, commanding blue in the firelight. A thin, white scar ran along one side of his clenched jaw. She wanted to reach out and slide her fingers along that scar on his jaw.
Why was her mind going off on such thoughts?

Instead, she wiggled her hand indicating they turn around. “I must disrobe, do not be peeking, nor goggling at me.”

All three men repeated the word goggling with raised eyebrows but did as she requested and turned their backs. She hastily pulled her family’s ancient plaid from the bag, unlaced her black-leather ankle boots, stripped off her soaked socks. Andra peeled off the leggings and long black skirt, removed her fitted leather vest, and pulled off her favorite heather-colored, turtleneck sweater, hopelessly stained with blood and dirt. Standing in pale-pink satin and lace underwear and bra, she faced the fire with arms outstretched, her plaid unfurling across her back the ends gripped in tight fists.

“Kendrick, come stand beside me with your back bared toward the fire; we are going to heat our bodies and crawl under Lorne’s coverings to warm him.”

His eyebrows quirked and he stepped toward her with a roguish look on his face. She lifted her left arm to block his view, not that it would help. Since he was nearly a foot taller, he could easily see over the top of her outstretched arms.

While keeping her eye on him she turned to her side attempting to shield her body from his view. In her peripheral vision she watched him remove the upper part of the plaid thrown over his shoulder and pull his shirt off the most sculpted abs she’d ever seen.

Wow!
Work out much?

He glanced in her direction as though he’d read her thoughts.

“Turn your head away, please,” she said, raising her arm and shoulder higher. Her eyes narrowed in challenge. His brows quirked and tiny, mischievous wrinkles appeared at the corner of his mouth. A guttural noise rumbled in his throat, but he averted his eyes as she’d asked. When her body tingled with warmth, she slid under the blankets and draped herself across Lorne’s chest, avoiding his injured right side. She tipped her head back to Kendrick still standing by the fire; his lips parted, a completely amazed expression on his face. “Lie down under the coverings on his other side, but be careful of his wounds.”

“You’re verra bossy, m’lady, and I dinnae take orders from anyone, especially a woman.” Still, he came, all male heat and strength, and crawled under the covers with his back turned to them. The other men took to their pallets and wrapped themselves in their plaids, Struan grunting, while Rabbie quietly chuckled.

After a moment she whispered, “Kendrick, I am not feeling too well myself. My head throbs and I feel a bit nauseous. Please wake me occasionally through the night in case I have a concussion. We should also give Lorne additional tablets in a few hours.”

He didn’t respond for several seconds and she wondered if he understood about concussions. “Aye, dinnae fash yourself, I will check on both of you.”

Andra closed her eyes.
This is just a wild and crazy dream, and I’ll wake in the morning refreshed and in my own time.
Another voice whispered in her head
, No, no you will not.

Chapter Four

Kendrick dozed fitfully for several hours then rolled to study Andra. Her face rested against Lorne’s shoulder, one pale arm stretched over his head, slender fingers flashing gemmed rings laced through his hair. Her face glowed in the dim light cast from the faltering fire. Her lovely, slightly parted, rose-tinted lips and high cheekbones mesmerized him. Flawless, lightly bronzed skin indicated time spent in the sun, marred only by the purple bruise and large lump on her forehead. A cascade of burnished brown hair drifted across her face and swirled in tendrils over her shoulders. One shoulder had slipped from the coverings and appeared bound with a thin strap of shiny material the color of blushed skin. Damn if he didn’t want that face on his chest, those fingers threading through his hair, his own fingers exploring the soft lushness of her body. She disturbed him, called to him even in sleep, and he didn’t like it.

Who are you, lass, and where did you come from?
As bold and brazen as she appeared, he admired her tenderness toward his brother and her quick willingness to help. She had asked him to wake her in a few hours, but loath to disturb her rest, he watched her sleep.

As though she felt his gaze, her dark lashes fluttered, and she woke with a start. When her eyes opened, she pulled away, looking confused and disoriented for several moments. She blinked, yawned with that perfect mouth that he wanted to smother with his own and whispered, “So, I’m still here. How long have we been asleep?”

“Aye, lass, you’re still here, where else would you be?” She didn’t answer. “It’s near dawn. You’ve slept mayhap a few hours.”

She studied him for a moment then lifted her face to Lorne and pressed her hand to his forehead. “His fever is still high. Has he woken at all?”

“Nae, he remains still and quiet but has ceased his trembling.”

She slid from the covers, pulling her plaid with her. As she stood, he caught a glimpse of her full figure garbed in enticing silk undergarments such as he’d never seen before. His manhood surged to attention.
Och, you fool
. Thank heavens layers of covers concealed his response to her.

Turning to the side, she wrapped the plaid around her body, tucking a flap tightly under her arm, leaving her shoulders bare except for that pair of thin silky straps. “We need to get more pills into him.” She retrieved her mysterious bag and searched its interior. Returning with several tablets in her hand, she knelt beside Lorne. “Fetch some water,” she commanded.

“Fetch it yourself, Andra.” Where did she come by such audacity to command him?

She startled at his reprimand and dropped her head, then seemed to reconsider and delivered a laughable attempt at a harsh stare. When he simply lifted a brow and smoothed his mouth into a tight line, suppressing an urge to laugh outright, she stood up, harrumphed, and went to retrieve the water.

“Will you at least help me get these down his throat?” she asked, her voice a soft, lilting tone. Yet she displayed enough self-assurance to meet his eyes directly.

“Aye, that I will, but dinnae be issuing commands to me in the future. A request will be better met.”

She smiled sheepishly as if she had no fear of him. Anyone else would have profusely begged his pardon. Perhaps she was a highborn lady as she claimed. They often held themselves in greater regard than was deserved. No matter her status, his head overflowed with questions he needed answered. Eventually, one way or another, she would give him the information he sought.

After they managed to get the pills into Lorne, she popped two pills into her own mouth and then wiped Lorne’s face with a cool, damp cloth and laid it across his forehead. Shying away from Kendrick, she pulled her plaid tighter. “Excuse me while I tend to my...er, ah, I’ll be right back,” she blurted and dashed toward the entrance of the cave.

Every interaction with her was a surprise. She stupefied him, a mystery to unravel and he was verra good at unraveling mysteries. He could think of other things he’d like to unravel, like spooling her out of that tightly held plaid. He would know her story. It struck him as odd how he suddenly wanted to know everything about her. Her possible relationship to the reprehensible Cormag Cameron barely factored into his desire to learn her secrets. Curious, as he rarely felt a need to know any woman beyond a few carnal encounters. Attachments of a more serious nature did not interest him.

He wanted to know where she had come by the odd clothing she wore, and what else was in that strange bag she lugged around everywhere. Strangest of all, how had she come to be stranded and bleeding, alone in the wilderness, draped in expensive jewels? When they’d come upon her, rising like an apparition from the forest floor with her possessions strewn about her feet, he felt an immediate attraction.

Perhaps Struan had the right of it, and she was a witch. He gave little credence to such beliefs, but many men were deeply superstitious. Witch hunts had died down in recent years. Kendrick thought such accusations had more to do with ignorance and avarice. Men in power could easily incite the rabble by blaming an innocent for unexplainable events. In some cases, the rouse allowed them to confiscate land and wealth from the accused. He no longer knew the court’s position on the matter since it often changed.

In a voice rough with sleep, Struan interrupted Kendrick’s musings, “How fares Lorne?”

“Nae well. His fever still burns and he hasn’t moved through the night. The lass gave him a few of her tablets again, but I dinnae ken if they help him.”

Struan grunted, “Mayhap you should not allow her continued ministrations. Mayhap she gives him poison.” Glancing quickly about the cave he asked, “Where has your
first aid
banshee gone, then?”

“Outside. She needed a moment of privacy. And nae, she gives him no poison. Each time she gives him the tablets she takes a few herself. It is obvious she means to help.”

Kendrick stood by the fire, but kept an eye on the front of the cave, his thoughts drifted for a moment. At nine and twenty, he had been laird of their clan for a few years due to his father’s deteriorating health. Constant skirmishes with rival clans, stolen cattle, poor crops, winter approaching with barely enough stores to provide for his people, and all the other inherent responsibilities his title inferred, weighed heavily upon him.

Unbidden, his father’s constant refrain:
“Ye need to provide the clan with heirs,”
rattled to the surface of his thoughts.
God’s teeth!
Why was he thinking about that now? Oh, but he could guess. The thought didn’t please him that well, because he was thinking about a particular woman, a Sassenach and a Cameron, no less. A lass with beguiling, green eyes and auburn-streaked hair. How could she be a Sassenach and a Cameron? Nothing about her made any sense.

Rabbie banked the fire, adding smoky peat and strips of wood. Then he went to the horses to search the saddle packs for their remaining dried meat, figs, and oatcakes. Kendrick didn’t miss Rabbie’s quick, furtive glances cast between him and the cave entrance, his cousin’s smirk more telling than words. They’d always read each other’s thoughts easily, a habit Kendrick found exceeding annoying at the moment. It would be inadvisable for Rabbie to begin speculating about a potential liaison between him and the lass. He never missed an opportunity to niggle Kendrick to find a new wife. But he didn’t want a wife. He might never be ready for another marital alliance.

Rabbie glanced at the front of the cave, “Have you learned anything aboot the woman? Did she say why she was in the forest alone and injured? When I doubled back last night, I found no evidence of anyone following us or searching for her. Only our tracks marred the ground.”

“Humph. That tells us nothing.” Struan interjected joining them.

“Mayhap, mayhap not. Who can say until she tells us something aboot herself?” Rabbie kicked a loose coal back onto the low flames.

Kendrick continued to watch the cave entrance and didn’t answer for a moment. Both men stared at their leader. Rabbie shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement until Kendrick shot him a warning scowl.

Rabbie ignored the rebuke. Stuffing a bite of food in his mouth, he continued, “Though her clothing is unusual it is made from verra fine fabrics, those leather boots, and that cape especially. Did you notice the intricate embroidery of Celtic symbols? Mayhap our wee woman of mystery piques your interest, cousin.”

Kendrick glared at Rabbie and snapped, “Isn’t it time you get out and scout the area? Did you set any snares last night? We could use some fresh meat.”

“Aye, I did. I’ll leave shortly to see if any redcoats or Cormag’s men still roam the area and check my traps while I’m out.” Rabbie took another bite of food.

“I’ll join you on your forage,” Struan said. “I could use a break from this...this...” he sputtered and flailed his hand toward the front of the cave where Andra had disappeared, then abruptly changed the topic. “Besides, ‘tis certain we cannae move Lorne for a few days, and we need food. What say you Kendrick?”

“Good.” Kendrick only briefly turned toward his men. “Good,” he repeated, with a distracted tone, “I will tend Lorne and see what the lass has to tell us.”

* * *

Andra paced a path outside the cave. “Why didn’t I bring my clothes out with me? Urrrgh! What in God’s name has happened? It’s clear I’m still here. Wherever or rather whenever here is. Well, there’s nothing to do but go back to the lion’s den.”

Just as Andra approached the cave entrance, Kendrick stepped into the pale light. Was he checking to make sure she hadn’t escaped? How could she escape when she had no idea where she was or whether running wouldn’t land her in even worst straights? Her chest tightened at the sight of his honed strength and apparent ease. When she breezed past him, her arms clutched around her middle to both anchor the plaid and refrain from running her fingers across his chest. Crazy thoughts assailed her.

She greeted the others with cheery aplomb. “Good morning, gentlemen.” Their startled gazes raked down her body to her bare calves and toes, which she couldn’t help but curl into the dirt at their scrutiny. A twinge of fear hit her for the first time since their initial encounter.
Was that only last night?
It seemed like ages. She felt exposed standing with her shoulders bared, tightly gripping a plaid that dropped just below her knees. Not smart, especially after last night’s little demonstration of heating Lorne’s body with hers. But then, she hadn’t displayed much intelligent decision making since her arrival.

Rabbie chocked on an oatcake and motioned with his head, “Your clothes are laid across yon rock by the fire, they are probably dry now. Would you like a bite to eat? ‘Tis not much, but it will quiet your rumbling stomach.” He lifted an oatcake in her direction and discreetly flicked his eyes away from her legs.

She answered with a dazzling smile. “Thank you kindly, Rabbie.” Her obvious attempt at friendly banter didn’t quell her shaking knees. She squared her shoulders; fear would gain her no consideration with this group. Kendrick pierced her with a hard stare, not blinking or saying anything. Why did he appear so annoyed with her?

The smile slipped from her face. She held Kendrick’s stare for a second, then tipped her chin ever so slightly, took the oatcake from Rabbie’s outstretched hand, and turned to gather her things. Grabbing her clothes and brocade bag, she rushed back outside. As soon as she moved a few feet beyond the entrance, she sat down and found a clean pair of socks and a clean, dark-green, knit shirt.

* * *

Kendrick followed Andra and watched her from a slightly concealed position beside the horses. The sky was turning a pale shade of violet-gray as night shifted to dawn. When her arms reached to pull on her shirt, he noticed a large bruise that wrapped around her side and across her back. No wonder she had winced when he’d held her in his grip during yesterday’s ride. However, she’d never complained, cried, or resorted to hysterics. Not exactly true, but she had exerted some effort at self-control, which spoke well of her strength. The image of last night, when she’d curled her heated body against Lorne’s, flashed to mind. He recognized this method of treating severe chills, but never imagined a woman would expose herself in such a manner.

Watching her dress, he admired her firm body, long legs, and rounded backside as she pulled on a pair of snug-fitting trews over bewitching pink-blush undergarments so outrageous his sword rose in salute. Everything fit tightly to her body like a second skin. Standing about five and a half feet tall, she was leanly muscled with full breasts and soft curves. Burnished gold and auburn glints streaked her thick, brown hair, still tangled and disheveled from sleep. Its glossy mass spilled just past the fragile wing bones in her smooth back. He felt lecherous staring at her, but couldn’t turn away. His hands tingled with the imagined feel of her silky skin and hair.

Wearing no chemise, or underlying petticoats, she shook and dusted off the slim-fitted, long, black skirt and pulled it over the trews. She laced up a fine pair of short leather boots and slipped on a fitted leather jerkin. Though fully covered, Andra’s clothing molded scandalously over her breasts, hips and all other body parts. Perhaps it was a new French or Dutch style, both often scandalous.

“Scandalous be damned,” he growled low in his throat, his manhood firming as he watched her wiggle into her clothes. Her beauty and tantalizing figure rattled him. A primal urge flowed through his veins, and swamped him with a yearning he dared not name.