Highland Lover (6 page)

ask Gregor. Alana decided that as long as it was away from the Gowans, it would be good enough

for now. Later she would take up the hunt for her sister again. Exhaustion had so dulled her wits

and senses, she doubted she could find her sister even if she stood only feet away.

When Gregor paused to take a drink of water from his wineskin, Alana stumbled to a halt. A

moment later, she felt her unsteady legs collapse beneath her. She was too exhausted to even curse

as she sat down on the cold, muddy ground. Although she knew it was unwise to sit, she could not

find the strength to get back up. Then she began to shiver and a soft roaring filled her ears. She

looked up to see Gregor staring at her while holding out the wineskin and felt herself slowly topple

onto her back.

Gregor cursed and knelt by Alana’s side. He slid his hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her

partly up out of the mud. The way her head lolled against his arm, the complete limpness of her

body, told him she was unconscious. When he started to brush the mud from her face, he cursed

again. The skin beneath his hand was hot despite the cool rain falling on them.

“Och, poor wee lass,” he murmured. “I pushed ye too hard, didnae I.”

He picked her up and set her down beneath a tree where the ground was not quite so muddy. Using

his plaid, he formed a blanket sling so that he could carry her and yet keep his hands free. It took

several tries, but he finally got her settled against his chest so that her legs dangled off to his sides and would not impede his stride. Picking up their belongings, he set out to find them someplace

where they could hide from the Gowans until she recovered.

Fate smiled upon him and, within an hour, he found a small stone cottage. When no one responded

to his pounding upon the door, he opened it and cautiously looked around, but saw no sign of life.

Although the cottage was small, it looked sturdy and its thatched roof was still intact. Gregor

quickly laid claim to the abandoned shelter. He set Alana down on the floor and, pulling out the few

blocks of peat he always carried with him, he started a fire. Wood or more peat would be required

soon, but first he had to get Alana dry and settled near the meager fire.

Thanking God that he had had the foresight to secure two blankets in the oiled sacks he and Alana

carried, Gregor turned his attention to getting Alana out of her wet clothes. He prayed she remained

unconscious until he was done, for he felt certain she would object most strenuously to being

undressed by a man.

He tugged off her boots and stockings and then rubbed the damp from her legs just vigorously

enough to restore some warmth to her limbs. Although she was slender and her legs appeared rather

long despite her lack of height, Gregor felt his conviction that she was not what she appeared to be

grow a lot stronger. The legs he now rubbed dry were far too shapely to be a child’s.

When he removed her cloak and gown, he softly cursed. Her shift was as wet as her outer clothing.

Gregor tugged it off her and then sat back on his heels and stared at her. She wore a delicate, more

feminine style of a man’s braies, but that oddity was not what really grasped and held his attention.

There were several layers of linen bandages wrapped around her chest. He had little doubt that it

would not be some wound he found when he unwrapped her.

Forcibly recalling himself to the need to finish getting her warm and dry, he drew his knife and cut

away the sodden bindings. Plump little breasts were revealed to his appreciative gaze, the dark rose

tips hard from the chill air. His mouth actually watered with a hunger to taste those long, tempting

nipples. The marks the binding had caused were an ugly scar upon her soft skin.

Gregor forced down the lust heating his blood as he prepared to remove the last of her clothing.

Knowing he was about to uncover a woman’s secrets and not just infringe upon a young girl’s

modesty, he was still surprised at how fiercely the sight of a fully naked Alana affected him. Her

thighs were firm and slender. Her hips were gently curved and her stomach was flat and smooth.

Between those beautiful thighs was a tidy little vee of brown curls that held a strong hint of red. She was perfection, he decided.

He then realized he was panting. Disgusted at how he was acting no better than a stag in rut that had just scented a doe, he quickly finished drying Alana off. Setting her down on a blanket, he dug

through her belongings until he found a clean, dry shift and hastily put it on her. He then covered

her from her chin to her tiny feet in the second dry blanket.

To further tamp down his lust, he looked at her hands, carefully unwinding the dirty bindings. A

soft curse escaped him as he saw how badly scraped they were. Using some of the water from his

wineskin, he gently bathed the scratches, careful to remove all grit and dirt. Deciding it might be

best to leave her hands free of bandages, he patted them dry. He just wished her fever were as easy

to tend to. There was a lot more he would need to do to keep the fever from settling in too deeply,

but his knowledge of such things was scarce.

Standing up, Gregor began to more closely inspect the cottage. It took him only a few moments to

decide that it had only recently been deserted. There was still some peat and wood in a box near the

fireplace. The fact that the little cottage even had a fireplace was surprising, and he had to wonder what it had been used for. After building up the fire, he pulled a rough bench closer to it and draped her wet clothes over it so that they would dry. He then returned to his explorations.

The fact that the cottage had a sturdy wooden door should have alerted him to the possibility that

this was no mere cottar’s hut, he realized. Opening one of the thick shutters on one of the three

windows, he found glass panes, a true luxury. Although the mattress upon the bed was stuffed with

straw, it was thick and clean. A poor man would have taken such a fine mattress with him. Gregor

then recalled how the cottage was tucked deep within the woods with no area cleared for farming or

the raising of animals. He began to think he had stumbled upon some laird’s retreat, perhaps even a

place where he housed his lemans out of sight and reach of his wife. It was pure luck that the man

was between lovers at the moment, Gregor mused.

He shook his head as he removed his wet clothes, rubbed himself dry, and donned some fresh dry

clothes. After arranging the second bench in front of the fire, he laid his own clothes over it to dry.

When he had wished for shelter for himself and Alana, he had never expected to find something this

fine. The Fates were definitely smiling on them.

Stepping into the room at the back of the cottage, Gregor found himself in a small kitchen. Whoever

had lived here last had left only a few things behind, but they could prove useful. He was impressed

by the fact that the fireplace was actually two sided, the kitchen side being constructed more for use in cooking. Here, too, was a supply of peat and wood. As long as the Gowans did not find them, he

and Alana could stay here in comfort until she regained her health and strength.

Opening the door at the back of the room, Gregor saw what had obviously been a kitchen garden,

and there was a well. Not wanting to get wet again, he set a bucket just outside the door to catch the rain. What collected in it would serve well enough until the rain eased and he could go to the well

without getting soaked to the skin.

Just as he began to shut the door, an animal bolted into the house and disappeared into the front

room, moving too fast for him to see exactly what it was. His hand on his knife, he entered the room

and stopped to stare at the creature huddled near the fire. Whoever had lived here had left behind

their cat. The fact that the animal had known exactly where to go to find warmth was reason enough

to believe it lived here. It was wet, dirty, and terrified, but it did not move as Gregor cautiously

approached it.

It took a while, but the cat finally allowed Gregor to rub it dry, which cleaned most of the dirt off its gray fur. For a moment, he had thought that it was growling at him and that he was about to suffer a

mauling for his care, but he soon realized that the rough, deep noise was not a threat; it was a purr of appreciation. He fetched the cat some water in a battered wooden bowl and cut up a little of the

venison he had hoarded from his last meal in the oubliette.

“’Tis fortunate ye are that I have a liking for cats,” Gregor said as he sat down near Alana. “Ye

havenae cleaned up so verra bad, either. Leaving ye to fend for yourself is a poor way to thank ye

for keeping the rats out of the meal, aye?” Gregor took a drink from his wineskin. “And ’tis a sad

day indeed when I am reduced to talking to a cat,” he grumbled.

The cat blinked its big yellow eyes at him.

Gregor shook his head and turned his attention back to Alana. He placed his palm against her

forehead and cheeks and then frowned. She definitely had a fever, and a dangerously high one, if he

judged it right. He told himself that the fear knotting his insides was born of a natural concern for a lass too young to die and one who had been a good companion as well.

He rose and walked to the bed. Deciding that until he could gather more wood, he would be unable

to build the fire up high enough to heat the whole room adequately, he moved the mattress close to

the fire. When he took the blanket off Alana to spread it over the mattress, he studied her for a brief moment.

“She is a bonnie, wee lass, cat,” he murmured as he settled Alana’s limp form on the mattress and

tucked the other blanket around her. “Wee enough to play the child, although I dinnae ken why she

couldnae trust me with the truth.”

The cat gave him such a disgusted look, Gregor suspected it was a female. “I shouldnae be

surprised if I have a fever. Thinking ye ken what I am saying has to be a sign of delirium.”

Recalling one thing he had seen done for someone with a fever, Gregor fetched the bucket he had

set out to catch rain. He searched out the other shift he had seen in Alana’s pack, took it out, and

tore it into strips. Heartily wishing he knew more about healing, Gregor began to bathe Alana with

the cool water in the hope of bringing down her fever.

“Artan?”

Startled by that unexpected voice and the sharp annoyance he felt over her calling out another

man’s name, Gregor stared into Alana’s fever-glazed eyes. “Nay, ’tis Gregor.”

“When did the Gowans allow us to have a light in our pit?”

“We arenae in the pit now, lass. We escaped, remember?”

For a moment, she frowned and glanced around her. “Oh, aye. We escaped. Did we get verra far?”

“Far enough for now, and I think this will prove to be a good hiding place.”

“Ah, that is good to hear, for I am feeling verra tired.”

“Who is Artan?” Gregor heard himself ask and inwardly cursed.

“My brother. Thought ye were him for a moment. Foolishness, for he didnae e’en ken I was

following him.”

“Why were ye following him?”

Even though her eyes were closed again, Gregor waited for her to speak. He sighed when, after

several minutes had passed and she made no effort to say anything else, he realized there would be

no answer to his question. She had apparently gone right back to sleep. Although he knew sleep was

best for her, he regretted the lost chance to get some answers to the many questions he had.

When he finished washing her down, Gregor fetched himself something to eat. He ended up sharing

nearly half of his meager ration of meat with the cat and decided he was much too soft of heart.

After stepping outside just long enough to relieve himself, he wiped off the small amount of rain

that had fallen on him and returned to Alana’s side.

He had never felt so helpless, and he hated the feeling. Fever could be a deadly thing, and he did not even know how to tell if her fever was of that ilk or just a natural reaction to being exhausted, cold, and wet. Even if he was able to find some herbs to use, he did not have any idea which ones would

heal her. In his ignorance, he could easily poison her. Gregor was not even sure wiping her down

with cool water and forcing her to drink whenever possible did much more than give him something

to do. As he began to bathe her fever-flushed face yet again, Gregor promised himself that he would

take the time to learn a little more than how to ease the bleeding of a wound until a skilled healer

could be fetched.

“I think we must fetch Grandmere,” Alana said. “I dinnae feel weel.”

“I cannae fetch your grandmere, lass. I dinnae ken where she is.” When Alana became a little fretful, Gregor decided it might have been wiser to lie to her.

“Then ye must find my sister Keira. Mayhap Cousin Gillyanne or Cousin Elspeth. I truly dinnae

feel weel and they will ken what to do.”

“I shall search them out. Ye rest. ’Tis what ye need most now.”

“Aye. Sleep is a good healer, but one of their potions would be good, too.”

Gregor hoped she had gone back to sleep when she grew still again. He also hoped she did not

recall what he had said. If she had the wit to catch him in a lie, it would become difficult to keep her calm.

One of the names she had mentioned was familiar to him, and he frowned. His brother Ewan was

married to a woman who had a sister-by-marriage named Gillyanne. It could be just a coincidence,